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9 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


BY THE AUTHOR OF “ SEVEN STORMY SUNDAYS,” “ THE QUEEN 


OF THE RED CHESSMEN, ETC 

ufoJL c 



BOSTON: 

WALKER, WISE, & CO., 

No. 245 Washington Street. 

1861 . 




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by 
WALKER, WISE, & CO. 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 

GEO. C. RAND & AVERT 


“ God gave a gift to earth: — a child, 
Weak, innocent, and undefiled, 

Opened its ignorant eyes, and smiled. 

“ It lay so helpless, so forlorn, 

Earth took it coldly, and in scorn, 
Cursing the day when it was born. 

“ She gave it first a tarnished name 
For heritage, a tainted fame, 

Then cradled it in want and shame. 

“ All influence of good or right, 

All ray of God’s most holy light, 

She curtained closely from its sight; 

“ Then turned her heart, her eyes away, 
Ready to look again, the day 
Its little feet began to stray. 

“ In dens of guilt the baby played, 

Where sin, and sin alone, was made 
The law that all around obeyed. 

“ With ready and obedient care, 

He learnt the tasks they taught him there 
Black sin for lesson, — oaths for prayer. 

“ Then Earth arose, and in her might 
To vindicate her injured right, 

Thrust him in deeper depths of night. 

“ Branding him with a deeper brand 
Of shame, he could not understand, 

The felon outcast of the land. 


“ God gave a gift to earth : — a child, 
Weak, innocent, and undefiled, 
Opened its ignorant eyes, and smiled. 


“ And Earth received the gift, and cried 
Her joy and triumph far and wide, 

Till echo answered to her pride. 

4 ‘ She blessed the hour when first he came 
To take the crown of pride and fame, 

Wreathed through long ages for his name. 

“ Then lent her utmost art and skill 
To train the supple mind and will, 

And guard it from a breath of ill 

“ She strowed his morning path with flowers, 

And love, in tender, dropping showers, 

Nourished the blue and dawning hours. 

“ She shed, in rainbow hues of light, 

A halo round the good and right, 

To tempt and charm the baby’s sight. 

“ And every step, of work or play, 

Was lit by some such dazzling ray, 

Till morning brightened into day. 

“ And then the world arose and said : 

Let added honors now be 6hed 
On such a noble heart and head ! 

“ O World! both gifts were pure and bright, 

Holy and sacred in God’s sight: — 

God will judge them and thee aright.” 

# 

A. A. Pkoctok, • 

From Legends and Lyrics. 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE CORNER OF THE STREET. 

“Please give me a few cents for to-night’s 
supper! It’s almost night now; I have been out 
all day, and it is just a few chips I have got now, 
and how shall I go home ?” So pleaded a youthful 
voice, and so it went on till it drew the attention 
of one of the passers-by. 

The voice came from a poorly, thinly clad girl. 
She wore an old shawl and a short dress, which 
displayed large feet, scarcely covered by the worn- 
out shoes. The whole dress was faded in color, 
and faded, too, was the thin face beneath the old 
bonnet. There was no youth in the face ; no room 
for a happy dimple in the cheeks. Its expression, 
as well as the words which accompanied it, pleaded 
sorely, and kindly Miss Elspeth could not help 
stopping to answer it. 

“ It is a cold night for you to be out in the 


6 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


streets, child,” she said, as she stopped; “ haven’t 
you a warmer .shawl than that ? ” 

“And, indeed, I shouldn’t have this, if it hadn’t 
been for the kind lady round the corner.” 

“ Come home with me to my house,” said Miss 
Elspeth, “ I haven’t any money to give you, but I. 
may find you something warmer to wear.” 

On the way, Miss Elspeth asked Hannah O’Con- 
nor what was her history, of her family, and where 
she lived. Hannah told her how many children 
there were, and how her mother was sick, and her 
father couldn’t get work. But Hannah was 
not much of a talker, and Miss Elspeth did not 
yet understand how it was they were all so poor 
and must suffer so much, when they reached her 
own door. 

She went in, and leaving Hannah in the entry, 
she entered a room that opened upon the first 
floor. “ Sister,” she said, a little timidly, as she 
went in, “ I have brought home a poor little Irish 
girl I have found in the street. She is half shiver- 
ing, and poorly enough dressed for so cold a night; 
she is a pleasant-spoken child, and her mother is 
sick and all. Eleven years old, she says, but she 
looks worn and anxious enough to be twice that. 
I have been thinking what we could give her. 
There is that old brown shawl of yours, — there is 
some warmth in it still, but I don’t think you’ll 
ever wear it again. It is not fit for you to go out 
in, and even on a sick day — ” 


THE CORNER OF THE STREET. 


7 


11 You’ve given away all your own clothes, Els- 
peth, and you must come to me now,” was the 
answer. “ A poor child in the street ! You can’t 
turn the corner but what there’s a poor child; 
and if you were to bring them all home, where in 
the world are we going to put them all? ” 

“ While you are thinking of that, I’ll go up and 
get the shawl,” answered Miss Elspeth. 

“ It’s in the right-hand drawer of my closet,” 
said Miss Dora, “the second from the top. There’s 
a cloth with camphor lying over it, and my best 
shawl on top of it. But you may as well ask that 
child in. There’s no need of her freezing out in 
the entry when there’s a good fire here.” 

Miss Elspeth opened the door for Hannah to 
enter, and placed a chair for her by the fire. 

As soon as Miss Dora set her eyes upon the 
child, she exclaimed, 

“ You’ve been here before ? I thought as 
much. Give once, and you are sure to have to 
give again ! It’s that same child I gave the petti- 
coat to last Monday ! Didn’t I tell you not to 
come again for a week, at least ? And here you 
are — ” 

“But I asked her to come now,” said Miss 
Elspeth, “and I did not see her here the other 
day, you know ; and how could I tell it was the 
same one? Poor child ! how can you speak to her 
that way ? She looks forlorn enough ! ” 

“ Well, go and get the shawl ; there’s no need 


8 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


of waiting any longer,” said Miss Dora, “only I 
advise you to keep my best one for next time she 
comes. I should like a Sunday’s wear out of it 
myself.” 

The girl had meanwhile looked from one to the 
other, — a little defiantly at Miss Dora, imploringly 
at Miss Elspeth. She took the seat towards which 
Miss Elspeth motioned her, and turned towards 
the warm, cheerful fire. Miss Elspeth left the 
room. 

Miss Dora softened a little towards the child, as 
she sat silently looking at her. There was some- 
thing to her touching in the contrast between the 
disorded, tattered, unneat dress, and want of dress 
in the poor girl, and her own carefully arranged 
garments, and the clean, prim order of everything 
in the room. Only the blaze of the fire lighted up 
the room, and this was cheerfully reflected from 
the highly polished furniture, from the shining 
brass knobs on the doors, and closed window- 
shutters. Into her complaisance, at her own com- 
fort and ease, there stole a feeling of pity for the 
poor, destitute child, who must be looking at all 
this unwonted luxury with wonder and envy. 

So^ when Miss Elspeth came down with the 
shawl, she herself got up and went to the closet, 
and in a few moments brought out a little packet. 

“ Here’s some tea for your mother ; Elspeth 
said she was sick.” 

Hannah looked pleased. 


THE CORNER OF THE STREET. 


9 


"Where is it you told me you lived ?” asked 
Miss Elspeth. 

"In Board Court, going out of Barter Street. 
It used to be No. 45, but they’ve changed the 
numbers now.” 

"Perhaps the neighbors will show me the house,” 
•"said Miss Elspeth. 

f " There’s three O’Connors live in Board Court,” 
said Hannah, " and there’s two Dennis*0’Connors. 
But you’ll tell the house, because the gate’s off 
the hinges, and there’s a barrel by the door, and 
it’s on the right-hand side, half way down the 
court.” 

As Hannah left, Miss Elspeth slipped a piece of 
money into her hand. She was hardly sure if it 
was right, and did not venture to tell Miss Dora of 
it ; indeed, she hardly ventured to think of it her- 
self. She did not think it a good practice to give 
money to poor people when she did not know them 
enough to be able to guess how it would be used ; 
but this poor girl looked very destitute, and the 
night was very cold. 

Directly came in Miss Dora’s neat maid, — for 
Miss Dora took all the charge of the housekeep- 
ing, — and she set the little table with its clean 
cloth, and she put on the little old-fashioned cups 
and saucers, and the steaming teapot. About this 
time, waked up Balph, the cat, who had been fast 
asleep till now, cyrled up in an easy-chair, not far 
from the fire. In his dreams the flavor of the tea 


10 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


had reached him, and he stretched himself, and 
prepared to beg for his wonted saucer of milk, 
rousing himself to the duties of life. 

Tea-time passed along silently, for neither Miss 
Dora nor Miss Elspeth were in the habit of talking 
at the hours of meals. After the tea-equipage 
was taken away, Miss Dora drew up to the fire 
with her knitting, and Miss Elspeth seated herself, 
by her basket of stockings. 

“Mr. Coke called this afternoon,” began Miss 
Dora. 

. “ Does he continue in the same mind about the 
house?” asked Miss Elspeth. 

“ They are going to pull the house dcfwn, and 
Mr. Badger’s too, and the whole row. He says he 
told us he’d give us till spring to think about it; 
and now it wants a month to spring, and they are 
in a hurry to go to work. For my part, I’m sick 
of Boston. If they are going to pull down all the 
old houses, I don’t care how soon I leave it. The 
old trees and gardens went first, and now the 
houses must go. Ours is the last wooden house in 
the street. Mr. Allen’s brick stores fill up our 
little dooryard, and now the house must go, too ! ” 
“How pretty the dooryard used to be,” said 
Miss Elspeth, “ and the strip of border that led up 
from the gate. About this time the earliest cro- 
cuses would be out. I remember one spring 
they were up quite as early as^this. Don’t you 
remember that spring — ” 


THE CORNER OF THE STREET. 


11 


“I told Mr. Coke,” interrupted Miss Dora, “that 
I didn’t care how soon we moved,* if the old 
house was to go, we might as well leave it sooner 
as later. He told me of a quiet house in Town- 
send Place. But I told him that they would build 
us up wherever we went, and I would quite as 
soon go out of town — ” 

“I’m glad you’ve come round to tkat,” said 
Miss Elspeth. “There’s that pretty little house 
at Langdale, near the Rothsays and Amy. Amy 
Rothsay settled we should go there long ago, you 
know.” 

“ I don’t much care where we go now,” said 
Miss Dora. 

“ Then the rent is much lower than we pay 
here,” suggested Miss Elspeth. 

“Well, what does that matter?” answered Miss 
Dora ; “ we have enough to live upon comfortably 
as it is. There’s no necessity of scrimping.” 

“But then, . sister, there’s our little plan: we 
could afford to have Martha and Margie live with 
us out there.” 

“ It’s easy to say we’ll have Martha and Margie,” 
said Miss Dora, “but it means something more 
than to have them live with us through the sum- 
mer or winter. It haeans that we shall take care 
of them, and provide for them till they can support 
themselves; and who knows if that will ever be?” 

“ But if we decide not to keep a girl,” inter- 
rupted Miss Elspeth, “ but do the work ourselves, 
we can provide easily for more than ourselves.” 


12 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


u And what’s to become of Nancy?” asked Miss 
Dora. 

u Why, Nancy would never go out of town, you 
know,” answered Miss Elspeth, u especially if she 
marries Aaron, as she hinted ; and I was thinking 
at tea-time, since perhaps we couldn’t do without 
some help, why couldn’t we take this Hannah 
O’Connqk? She is older than Martha and Margie, 
and for a year or two till they are old enough to 
help us — ” 

“ That comes of thinking at tea-time, Elspeth. 
You always are inventing some plan while you are 
eating. It is not healthly to eat and think at 
once. One thing at a time is enough for me, 
and you, too. And pray don’t say any more of 
Hannah O’Connor to-night ; she makes me think of 
my poor brown shawl. How handsome it was 
when it was new ! I wore it to church the first 
day, and Mrs. Brigham noticed it.” 

“ It has worn well,” said Miss Elspeth. 

u Yes, I’ve had it about for a sick shawl many a 
day, and there’s warmth in it yet. Well, I shan’t 
lose sight of it, if your Hannah O’Connor should go 
out with us to Langdale. Not that I can think 
seriously of that. How will you ever get our 
furniture into such little rooms ? And how are you 
going to take Ralph into the country ? The cat is 
fond of me, but more fond of the house, I’m afraid. 
If you had a procession of Irish girls to take Ralph 
away, he would be back the next week. You know 
we couldn’t leave Boston, on Ralph’s account.” 


CHAPTER II. 


MARTHA AND MARGIE. 

Miss Dora was decidedly conservative. She 
loved Boston with an inflexible love. Y et it was the 
Boston of her younger years to which she had al- 
ways clung. She loved the old parts of the town. Its 
narrow streets, with here and there an old wooden 
house, among its newer and statelier rows of brick 
buildings. She loved even the sidewalks, and the 
rattle of wheels upon the pavements. She did not 
often venture into the country ; when she did, she 
complained of its stillness that rung in her ears. 
Frank Rothsay had often said, Miss Dora would 
rather have a brick tree than an elm or oak oppo- 
site her window, any day. To move Miss Dora 
out of Boston would seem like moving the State 
House itself. 

But many things had been a long time at wo v1 ' 
upon these old prejudices. In spite of Miss Dora 
remonstrances, Boston had gone on enlarging, — 
her mind, not improving. The old wooden hous 
were fast disappearing, the quieter streets we- 
becoming noisy thoroughfares, Miss Dora was 


14 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


jostled and elbowed at every corner, and almost 
run over in Washington Street, and there was a 
threat of making a railroad even there. A large, 
fashionable shop was opened in their own door 
yard, and there was a row of carriages every day 
in front of her quiet windows. 

Miss Dora’s expressions, too, were always 
stronger than her feelings. In spite of Miss Dora’s 
strong words, Miss Elspeth, small and meek as she 
looked, had the rule in the end. The two Misses 
Elton had lived long undisturbed in the little house 
which seemed so exactly fitted for them. But an 
inroad had been made, a few years ago, upon their 
peace when the dooryard had been built upon. 
Their own front door had been opened upon the 
street, and their already little parlor had been cut 
smaller. Miss Dora had declared then she would 
leave Boston, and never set foot in it again ; and 
when, this spring, the landlord began to talk about 
pulling down the house, both Miss Dora and Miss 
Elspeth listened more willingly to what their friends, 
the Rothsays, had to urge about going out to Lang- 
dale, to live near them. 

“ As well move there as anywhere,” said Miss 
Dora, at last ; “ there won’t be but one more 
move ! ” 

Miss Elspeth inclined to the plan of moving out 
of town, since it might include her favorite wish of 
taking Martha and Margie home to live with them. 

Many years before, Barbara, a favorite cook, had 


MARTHA AND MARGIE. 


15 


left the Misses Elton’s service, with the injudicious 
purpose of being married. This was one of the 
unpardonable sins with Miss Dora ; and that Bar- 
bara should have the folly to give up a comfortable 
home for the uncertainties of married life t shook 
her faith in women. Barbara had married a car- 1 
penter who was apparently getting on in the 
world ; but he and his wife again sinned in Miss 
Dora’s eyes, by leaving Boston and going to live 
in New York. Years passed on; and after the 
sickness of her husband, and other troubles, Bar- 
bara returned to Boston, but did not venture to 
intrude her poverty upon Miss Dora and Miss 
Elspeth. 

By accident Miss Elspeth had fallen upon her. 
One of her neighbors had begged her to go and see 
a poor woman who was struggling along with three 
children and a sick husband. Miss Elspeth went to 
the place she was directed to, — an out-of-the-way 
court, — up some shackly wooden steps. She 
opened the door, and in a poor-looking room, she 
found Barbara. She had not expected to find her 
in the Mrs. Smith who had been recommended to 
her charitable cares. 

Poor Barbara ! She, who had been married from 
Miss Elspeth’s house with some pomp and cere- 
mony, and had been used to cooking dainties and 
luxuries, if she did not share them, was sitting now 
in a forlorn, unfurnished room. She held her 
youngest child in her arms, and sat close by a small 


16 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


stove, scarcely larger, Miss Elspeth thought, than 
her bread-pan. 

Barbara was filled with wonder at seeing Miss 
Elspeth again, and was soon willing to tell over her 
troubles. Her husband had just gone out to find 
work again, after an attack of rheumatic fever. 
Her two girls were at school, for she still could 
keep them decent enough for school. But, though 
she had gradually parted with all the little treas- 
ures of housekeeping she had possessed when she 
had married ; though the poor destitute room 
showed only a barren neatness ; yet Barbara 
seemed to think she had quite a jewel left in her 
baby. With pride, she opened a drawer in a little 
chest of drawers, that served many purposes, to 
show the little wardrobe she had managed to pre- 
pare for it. Miss Elspeth was deeply moved when 
she compared it with one she had seen a few days 
before, prepared for a little child no more tender 
and helpless than this one, — its countless cambric 
dresses, flannels, and blankets, with embroideries 
and displays of knitting, — all that was rich, and 
fine, and luxurious, — presents from those who 
could give with little personal sacrifice. Mrs. 
Smith showed the one little white dress she had 
made of the cambric of her own wedding dress, and 
the blanket of coarse flannel, in a corner of which 
she had found time to embroider one little sprig. 

This was in the autumn. All through the winter 
Miss Elspeth went to see Barbara, and care for 


MARTHA AND MARGIE. 


17 


her. One or two visits had shown her that Bar- 
bara’s strength was failing, and she was dying from 
the over-work and cares of the few last years. 

Before the spring she died, and the baby soon 
followed her. The little baby went before it was 
old enough to bear the long name its father had 
given it. But Mr. Smith married again, before the 
year was out, a widow with three children. Here 
was a double enormity in Miss Dora’s eyes ; and 
the greater was her pity for the two little girls, 
Martha and Margie. Their stepmother had little 
time to devote to them if she had the will, and Miss 
Elspeth often brought them to spend days with 
her, when Miss Dora was gradually won by their 
quietness and gentleness. 

So all through the last winter, it had been the 
subject of Miss Elspeth’s thoughts, how best she 
could provide for Martha and Margie, and whether 
it were possible for her to take them into her own 
household. Whenever the subject had been brought 
up, Miss Dora had always said that they could not 
afford to take care of two children, especially since 
Mr. ‘Coke had increased the rent the last two years, 
in spite of his having cut the house up smaller. 
But now the house itself was to be left ; and, with 
the great inroad of change this event must throw 
open, Miss Dora was willing to let other innova- 
tions pour in. 

Amy Rothsay came from Langdale with glowing 
accounts of the little house to let just next to them. 

2 


18 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 

All its charms she brought out rapidly and vividly 
to Miss Dora’s listening ears. It was not at all a 
desolate country place, with the nearest neighbors 
half a mile off. There were pleasant people all 
round, — cosy old Mrs. Bunce, the Lees, the 
Paxtons, who had a son who came home from India 
every year or two, and brought home pretty things, 
so that their house was all filled up with fascin- 
ating Canton furniture and boxes and tables, and 
all such, and the Fays, and the Carltons, and 
then the Rothsays — 

“ And then the Rothsays,” Amy went on ; V dear 
Miss Dora, you don’t know what treasures the 
Rothsays are for neighbors. Here I come in and 
see you once a week, — mamma not oftener than 
once a month, — and papa, I’m sure he does not 
come more than once a quarter, to tell you how 
stocks are, and what has risen, and what has 
fallen ” 

“ Nothing has risen, that I know of, lately,” in- 
terrupted Miss Dora. * 

“ Wait till you get to Langdale,” said Amy ; 
“papa will stop and see you every night on his Way 
up from the cars, and give you the papers, and tell 
you the news.” 

“ Where are we going to find the time to read 
the papers ? ” asked Miss Dora. “ Elspeth is going 
to set up an orphan asylum, as far as I can see. 
You don’t know that we are to be overrun with all 
the poor children of her acquaintance.” 


MARTHA AND MARGIE. 


19 


But Amy did know all Miss Elspeth’s plans, and 
was deeply interested in them. 

“ Oh, dear little Martha and Margie,”- she said; 
11 1 shall be so glad to have them near us ! Such a 
notable little person as little Martha is ! And what 
large, grave black eyes Margie has! I remember 
seeing Martha, one day when I was dining here, 
help Nancy set the table, and the little thing was 
very useful, putting on the forks and spoons, though 
her eyes came up no higher than the table. She’s 
a little born housekeeper !” 

u She’s just like Barbara in some of her ways,” 
said Miss Dora. “ She moves round just as quietly. 
She was the last person, Barbara * was, that you 
would ever have thought of being romantic ; get- 
ting married and going off, and having a family of 
children and dying .” 

“ Everybody dies,” suggested Amy. 

“ Everybody does not die of hard work,” said 
Miss Dora ; “ and Barbara, if she’d stayed here, 
might be here now. There’s our Nancy ; I don’t 
so much wonder at her. She always had a flirty 
air. I knew she was fond of being looked at. I 
concluded from the first she would marry some 
time or other. And now she’s going! Everything 
comes upon us all at once ! The house is pulled 
down, and Nancy must needs marry ; and we’re 
going to leave Boston and all.” 

Miss Dora admitted that she was going to leave 
Boston. This was a great point gained. 


CHAPTER III. 


TWO INSTEAD OF ONE. 

With this encouragement, the house in Langdale 7 
was visited, and preparations made for leaving the 
Boston home ; in the midst of which, and during 
the frequent discussions before the final determinar 
tion, Miss Elspeth did not neglect to inquire about 
Hannah O’Connor. She found that she was well 
known among her acquaintance. Mrs. Badger, the 
president of the sewing circle, knew that she spent 
her days going about begging for anything and 
everything ; that she had a never-do-well mother, 
and that the father was now in the House of Cor- 
rection ; that they lived in the lowest degradation, 
while it seemed hopeless to give them anything, 
for money and food and clothing were squandered 
in the most reckless manner. Miss Elspeth was 
not dismayed or discouraged by these represen- 
tations. Hannah O’Connor’s moving face had made 
an appeal to her heart, and she was not one who 
would forget it. The child had made its claim upon 
her, which she could not throw off with words 
that others would use. She could not say to her. 


TWO INSTEAD OP ONE. 


21 


self, these people are not worthy to be helped, it 
is no use doing anything for them, what is given 
them is worse than thrown away ! Hannah O’Con- 
nor stood before the eyes of her memory, and 
would not be moved away. Even if she should go 
hundreds of miles off, she would know still that 
Hannah O’Connor was in the world. She was put 
there to grow up in it. And she was growing up 
in worse than poverty, in worse than destitution. 
Miss Elspeth directly felt that she was responsible 
for her, the more so, perhaps, that no one else was 
sensible of the same feeling. 

So one morning Miss Elspeth and Amy Rothsay 
set forth for Board Court. They stopped at Mrs. 
Badger’s for more particular directions than Han- 
nah had given. Miss Elspeth confided to her 
in part her plans with regard to Hannah, if she 
could persuade her to leave her mother. 

“It will be a real charity,” said Mrs. Badger, 
“ though when you’ve seen the other children, 
you’ll want to take Bessie rather than Hannah. I 
never could see much to like in Hannah ; but Bes- 
sie is a pretty little child. She is younger than 
Hannah.” 

“ Then it would be more important,” said Miss 
Elspeth, “ for me to have Hannah. She is too old 
to stay in such a home longer. By-and-by it would 
be too late to do her any good.” 

“Well, you have not seen Bessie,” said Mrs. 
Badger. “ Perhaps you’ll decide to take them 


22 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


both. I know you won’t have the heart to leave 
Bessie behind.” 

“ What would Miss Dora say to that?” asked 
Amy, as they walked on. 

Miss Elspeth was looking very thoughtful. 

11 1 know I wish our house were a little larger, 
and things were a little different,” continued Amy. 

u I am more able for such things than you,” said 
Miss Elspeth. 

They reached Board Court. It was fortunate 
they had Mrs. Badger’s direction besides Hannah’s, 
for the landmarks she gave were not decisive ; 
almost every gate in the court was off its hinges, 
and barrels were plenty. It was perhaps in the 
forlornest of all the houses that they found Mrs. 
O’Connor was living. A troop of noisy children 
were playing in the unpaved dooryard, across 
which some clothes were swung to dry. Miss El- 
speth and Amy made their way up stairs, through 
dirt, close air, among noisy women and children, 
into a room that seemed at first quite filled. 

Mrs. O’Connor lay upon the bed ill, and three or 
four of the neighbors had come in to visit her and 
entertain her. Hannah was in the room, holding 
one of the twins in her arms, the other was lying 
upon the bed. There were two boys in a corner 
quarrelling over some marbles. These were “ Stee- 
vie,” an older brother of Hannah’s, and a friend of 
his. Then there was a smaller boy playing on the 
floor, who was u sister’s son ” to Mrs. O’Connor. 


TWO INSTEAD OF ONE. 


23 


Miss Elspeth and Amy seated themselves in two 
chairs that were left vacant by two of the neigh- 
bors, who then took their leave. Hannah recog- 
nized Miss Elspeth, and came forward to speak to 
her, and from behind Hannah’s dress peeped out 
the little face of Bessie. 

Mrs. O’Connor began a long detail of her sorrows 
* and grievances, of the mischances that had befallen 
Dennis, and of her distress at what she should do, 
now that he was shut up, and cut off from helping 
the family. Miss Elspeth was discouraged by her 
tone and manner. She could see in her whole 
appearance the source of all the wretchedness of 
the family. There was a recklessness and a shift- 
lessness that showed no desire for a better position 
in life, especially if it required to be worked for. 

Amy, meanwhile, was making the acquaintance 
of the baby, and presently of Bessie. Bessie had 
been very shy, but ventured at last to come near 
Amy, and to ask : 

“ May I smell of one posy ? ” 

Amy held in her hand two or three English vio- 
lets, that had been given her as she came into 
town in the morning. 

Amy drew Bessie near to her, and gave her one of 
the violets. Bessie’s eyes glistened with pleasure. 
She was a pretty child, when her face could be dis- 
tinguished through the dusky veil that concealed 
it. She had thick brown hair, and clear, trusting 
blue eyes. Her cheeks glowed, and looked more 


24 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


healthy than Hannah’s. Amy longed to wash her 
and make her clean, and discover the clear com- 
plexion beneath. Bessie was the little pet of the 
family, the little favorite in Board Court. Her 
timid ways made her shrink from playing with the 
noisy, rude boys who seemed to people the place, 
yet not one of them would have wished or have 
ventured to hurt Bessie. 

Amy saw why it was that Mrs. Badger was sure she 
should want to take Bessie out from such a home. 
It seemed impossible to leave her to struggle with 
such wretched and hopeless poverty. Hannah, 
too, was the useful member of the family evidently. 
No doubt she brought home every day, from her 
wanderings, enough, or more than enough, to sup- 
port the family for the day. Amy found herself 
really hoping Miss Elspeth might be moved to take 
Bessie, even if she left Hannah behind. Hannah 
was already used to the discomforts and the hard- 
ships around her, while it would be a great pleasure 
to take the little Bessie out into a better home, 
that seemed more fitted to cherish so attractive 
and tender a child. 

They walked away from the house a little while 
in silence, when Amy exclaimed, “ That dear little 
Bessie, her pretty face haunts me I ” 

“ I have been thinking of' it. I have been won 
dering if I should be justified in taking her awaj 
from her mother,” said Miss Elspeth. 

“ But her mother,” said Amy, “ could hardly 


TWO INSTEAD OF ONE. 


25 


object so much as to have Hannah go away. Han- 
nah must be her dependence.” 

“ Oh, I cannot let Hannah stay ! ” said Miss 
Elspeth, “ it would be worse for her in the midst 
of such influences than for Bessie. Those lovely 
ways and charms of Bessie are just what might 
protect her in such a place. I am only wondering 
whether I am not wrong in taking away such an 
influence as hers is, from the rest of her family. It 
is what makes even those rude boys more gentle.” 

“ 1 know it,” said Amy. “ The boys in the corner 
stopped quarelling when Bessie went near them. 
But it makes me shudder to think of her living 
always in such a home.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Miss Elspeth; “if I could 
make sure it were right, I don't know why we 
should not have them both ; it might be good for 
Hannah.” 

Amy almost embraced Miss Elspeth at the corner 
of Hanover Street. 

“ Oh, do take them both !” she exclaimed; “ and 
we will help you, — mamma and I. I will take care of 
all of Bessie's clothes. I cannot bear to think the 
little thing should grow up in such a place. Will 
you do it ? Only Miss Dora ! ” 

u Only make sure it is right,” said Miss Elspeth, 
“ and Dora will see that it is right, too.” 

“ It’s a responsibility,” said Amy, fearing that 
her eagerness might be bringing too much care 
upon good Miss Elspeth. 


26 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


u There’s more responsibility with a few duties 
than a great many/’ said Miss Elspeth. “ One can- 
not do more than one can ; and it is very easy to 
do less.” 

“ Everybody does not think so/’ said Amy. 
" Dear Miss Elspeth, it won’t do to tell Miss Dora 
where we saw the brown shawl.” 

11 Wrapped round one of the twins,” said Miss 
Elspeth, smiling. 

They stopped again at Mrs. Badger’s. 

She was rejoiced to hear that Miss Elspeth 
thought of taking home the two children. “ I am 
very glad,” she said. “ I have been thinking, while 
you were gone, if I could not help you. Some 
ladies, some of my friends, would agree with me, I 
have no doubt, to clothe Bessie ; and Hannah, too, 
perhaps. You ought not to have the charge of all 
that, when you have so much care besides.” 

“ There’ll be a contest,” said Amy, “ I have no 
doubt, as to who shall do the most to help you. We 
will try not to stop in mere professions.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE EMIGRATION. 

Miss Elspeth found no obstacles to her benevolent 
endeavors. She sent for Hannah one day, and 
broke to her the plans that were formed for her. 
The matter was easily decided, when Mrs. O’Con- 
nor willingly gave up both Hannah and Bessie. 
For Miss Elspeth had already decided that it would 
be no charity to Hannah to take her away from her 
home, while she left Bessie behind ; and that it 
would not break off all Hannah’s home ties if she 
had the child still with her. Hannah listened to 
her silently. She expressed no pleasure or sorrow 
at the proposal. 

Hannah was eleven years old now, but she looked 
far older. Miss Elspeth told her she wanted her to 
stay with her five years. At the end of that time, 
she would have learned a great many things; and 
Miss Elspeth promised, then, to put ber in as good 
a condition as she knew how. And she told Han- 
nah that she might then have her own choice as to 
where she would go. Hannah deckled she would 
follow Miss Elspeth now. Five years was an 


28 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


unknown period of time to her ; the home that Miss 
Elspeth offered her was unknown, too,* and the 
unknown was attractive to her. It had always 
been her pleasure to wander in distant parts of the 
town, in search of something different and new ; 
and now it seemed as if the world were opening 
before her. There was a secret reservation in her 
own heart, all the time, that no one could bind her 
anywhere ; and that whatever she promised Miss 
Elspeth, or whatever allurements were offered her, 
she could come back again, any day, to Board Court. 
Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth little thought, the one 
so satisfied with her own position, the ^other filled 
with pity of Hannah’s, that Hannah was looking 
forward to a home with them, only as a variety to 
her former life, — as a part of its vagrancy. Yet 
Hannah was not entirely ungrateful. She was 
moved by Miss Elspeth’s benevolence, but she 
could not appreciate it. Young as she was, she 
had become defiant of the world, and did not trust 
to any one’s impulses. 

Miss Dora, in the midst of the whirl of so great 
a revolution, was unable to make any protest against 
her sister’s benevolence. In the midst of such 
change, in the leaving her old home forever, all 
other changes were lost. And now that her deci- 
sion was made, she was only eager to carry it out. 
She scarcely lent her ear to plans for the children. 
She was already absorbed in calculations whether 
the old carpets would fit the new rooms ; in terror 


THE EMIGRATION. 


29 


lest the dear old-fashioned furniture should be in- 
jured in its passage out. She did not go out 
herself to the new house, to superintend these 
arrangements ; she would not go till the very last 
day. Miss Elspeth did all. She made measure- 
ments of the rooms of the little house ; and Miss 
Dora, at home, gave directions for the disposition 
of everything. 

It was agreed that Amy should, every day, have 
a little school for the children, and teach them in 
the house for an hour or two, until they should be 
old enough to go to some of the schools in the 
neighborhood. Mrs. Badger and her friends had 
collected a complete little wardrobe for Hannah and 
Bessie ; so it Was hoped that Miss Elspeth might be 
relieved from some of the cares her benevolence 
had brought upon her. 

It was a fine day, the day of the emigration, as 
Frank Rothsay called it. Miss Elspeth and Mar- 
tha and Margie went out by the railroad in the 
morning. Miss Dora had never consented to ride 
on a railroad, and refused on this occasion. The 
Rothsays were to send their carryall and take in 
it, Miss Dora and Hannah and Bessie. Early in 
the afternoon, Frank Rothsay appeared at Miss 
Dora’s door, with the horse and carryall, to drive 
her away. Hannah and Bessie stood upon the steps 
of the house. Many were the bundles and baskets 
that Miss Dora tucked into the corners of the car- 
riage. Grimly she told Hannah to get in upon the 


30 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


back seat. In the midst of her preoccupation and 
busy thoughts, she fancied she detected in Han- 
nah’s face an intention of running away at the last 
moment. Miss Dora looked in again upon the little 
parlor. The last of its household gods had gone ; 
but still there clung round it some of its old asso- 
ciations. The figures in the landscape papering 
seemed to move in a last farewell. Miss Dora 
looked round onco more before she closed the last 
half of the shutter. Her eyes fell at last on a cor- 
ner of the room where was a mutilated palm-tree, 
beneath which sat a dismembered Arab, over whose 
head waved the trunk of a bodiless elephant. It 
was where the little parlor had been cut in upon to 
make the now entrance to the house. Everything 
was changed even there ; the old paper that used 
to seem so grand and fine in her eyes, had been 
dishonored, and nearly destroyed. She closed the 
shutter and the door, and was ready to go. Frank 
had lifted little Bessie up to the front seat, and was 
encouraging and amusing her with some lively talk. 
Miss Dora sent the key of the house into the shop 
at the corner, and the carryall rolled out of 
the street. 

Little Bessie was in a state of wonderment and 
delight. She had ridden once half way down a 
long street, in a baker’s cart, and it had been one 
of the eras of her life ; and now she looked with a 
sort of terror upon the wild steed that Frank was 
governing. It was a slow old family horse, and 


THE EMIGRATION. 


31 


plodded along at a respectable pace. As she went 
on, Miss Dora grew eloquent upon the inroads and 
changes she saw in every street they passed through. 
As they passed the Common, Bessie almost hoped 
some of her young companions would see the state 
to which she had arrived ; while she almost feared 
some of the great boys would snatch her out from 
the carryall, if they saw her. If they did, she 
thought Frank would whip up that splendid large 
horse, and they would fly like the wind. 

Frank began to tell her what she would see out 
of town. He asked her if she had ever seen a pig, 
and excited her curiosity greatly when he found 
she never had. 

Hannah was a little perturbed. The horse went 
on so slowly, the journey seemed so long to her 
impatient mind, that she began to fear she should 
never find her way back if she should ever want to 
go home, and looked on either side frequently, as 
if ready to jump out. Miss Dora, who was in con. 
stant dread lest something should be lost from the 
carriage, judiciously gave her the molasses jug to 
hold, and presently her cap-box. This gave Han- 
nah some occupation ; while she herself held Ralph, 
the cat. Frank Rothsay, meanwhile, exerted all his 
powers of entertainment in various ways. He must 
keep little Bessie from crying, if she should think 
of home and the baby, and she showed herself a 
little inclined that way, and must prevent Hannah 
from running away, and Miss Dora from turning 


32 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


back to her beloved Boston, when they crossed 
the Boston line. He looked round now and then 
uneasily to the back seat, in terror lest Miss Bora, 
Hannah, and the cat, should all have made their 
escape while his head was turned; but no, the 
journey was safely accomplished, and the carryall 
drew up before the little gate, from which a path 
led to the front door. On the doorstep stood Miss 
Elspeth and Mrs. Rothsay, and Amy, with Martha 
and Margie, came running out to meet them. They 
were received with triumph. Miss Dora was helped 
out, Bessie was lifted from the carriage, and this 
was gradually unpacked. Hannah, after she had 
descended, walked towards the horse, looked upon 
it contemptuously, and said, “I could have walked 
sooner.” But she applied herself directly to assist 
the unpacking, and went with the others to the 
house. 

Amy made Miss Dora linger a moment on the 
step, to look down into the little garden. She 
pointed out the crocuses under the window, the 
violet roots, and the border, with its edge of pinks. 
Miss Dora admired but little of these, and then 
hastened into the house. Before the fireplace her 
own armchair was drawn up, and Miss Elspeth’s 
rocking-chair. On the tall mantel-piece stood the 
old China vases, and at either end, the large sea- 
shells. In the window, upon the road, stood the 
little round table, with its clawed legs. The old 
sideboard stood as though it had grown into its 


THE EMIGRATION. 


33 


niche ; and the antique mirror hung between the 
windows. On the table, beneath it, were placed 
the large Bible, Young’s Night Thoughts, and Tay- 
lor’s Holy Living. 

From the fireplace gleamed a welcome blaze. 
Even the knitting was laid invitingly on the stool 
by the side of the armchair. Miss Dora seated 
herself, and folded her hands in her lap. u The 
Lord be praised,” she said, “ we are safely here.” 
She would not be moved from her place that night. 
Her head was mazed by the confusions of the day, 
and its changes. Amy brought her a cup of tea; 
and in the evenipg, Mr. and Mrs. Rothsay came to 
talk with her. She read the Transcript, and old 
Mrs. Berry had died in Newburyport, and Juliana 
Grant was married, and the Gobbleby stocks were 
realizing. All of which was talked over as it would 
have been in the old Boston home ; so that Miss . 
Dora herself was fairly surprised, at the evening’s 
close, to find she was really in Langdale, that the 
great step had been taken, that she, Miss Dora 
Elton, had moved from Boston. 

Meanwhile, the children had taken possession of 
the rest of the house and the garden. They en- 
tered into the spirit of change with the delight of 
children. Bessie and Margie explored every cor- 
ner of the house, and admired the different doors 
that led out from it. They could scarcely be torn 
away from the corner of the garden from which 
they could watch Mrs. Bunco’s pigs. But Frank 
3 


34 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


promised them he would put a bench there for them 
some time, where they might take observations any 
time of day. And early in the evening, Amy and 
Miss Elspeth succeeded in putting the little colony 
to rest. 

It was one of the first of the spring days, — one 
of the days that seem to be promise and fulfilment 
in one. They are only of promise ; for the east 
wind shuts them in, behind and before. But be- 
hind the east wind is hidden the summer, and in 
these early spring days we feel a little of its breath, 
its warmth, and its languor, the invitation it gives 
to come out from winter activities, and winter con- 
finements, into its soft lassitude, and all its offers of 
freedom. 


CHAPTER Y. 


SETTLING DOWN. 

Everybody said Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth 
did not know what it was to have a family of chil- 
dren in the house, and that before the first week 
would be over, Miss Dora’s patience would be 
worn out. Everybody thought she would find 
living in the country a different thing from her 
house in town, where she could buy what she 
pleased for dinner at the provision store at the 
corner of the street, where she had neighbors to 
drop in at any hour of the day, and a brick side- 
walk to walk to church upon. The living without 
any 11 help,” the depending upon an inconstant 
butcher once or twice a week, and the having 
the care of half a dozen poor children, — for the 
world’s wife exaggerated the size of their fam- 
ily, — all these discomforts united, it was thought, 
would be more than Miss Dora or Miss Elspeth 
could bear. 

But these fears were without foundation. As 
Miss Dora’s immovable mind was unable to grasp 
the extent of the shock that had come upon her 


36 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


old habits, she settled down into the change as 
quietly as she would have done to the coming of 
the new day in her old home. There her princi- 
pal occupation had been to provide for the three 
meals of the day, and to keep her house in order. 
And these events were still the most important to 
her. 

Ralph, the cat, had been shut up the night 
before, in a room by himself. Frank had insisted 
in bringing him out, that he should be put in a 
basket, his head tied in a bag, and his paws 
greased, according to old tradition; and the first 
evening of his arrival, whenever he was visited by 
the children, he was found busily cleaning himself. 
This occupation, it was supposed, would employ 
him till he became wonted to his new position, and 
he would be less likely to take the first oppor- 
tunity to make his way to his old home. 

It was perhaps the same enthralment of occupa- 
tion that held Miss Dora. The zeal and ambition 
of a careful housekeeper inspired her, so that she 
forgot for a little while the changes round her, and 
set herself to duties that drove away all thought. 

So, on the first morning after her arrival, she 
woke to the demands of breakfast, and a house in 
disorder. She hastened to wake Hannah and her 
corps dramatique, and set them in action. Miss 
Elspeth was roused to find Hannah nailing down a 
carpet, Martha sweeping the stairs, and Margie 
and Bessie busy with fetching and carrying. 


SETTLING DOWN. 


37 


“ There, now,” said Miss Dora, l - 1 meant you 
should have slept an hour yet, you worked hard 
enough yesterday. I thought I would set Hannah 
to tacking down that carpet; I saw it wasn’t 
finished yesterday. I sent the child in with* the 
hammer and nails, and it took her half an hour to 
find out she didn’t know what I meant. There’s 
enough to do, to be sure, but it is a pity you 
couldn’t sleep longer^” 

Sleep ! Miss Elspeth might as easily have slept 
In a cotton mill ; there was the clatter of tongues 
and the clatter of footsteps. Miss Dora’s voice 
sounded above all, and Miss Elspeth’s noiseless 
will was needed. For, though Miss Dora was 
wont to give the loud word of command and the 
song of victory at the end, it was Miss Elspeth 
who led on the silent attack upon the enemy. 

There was china to set up in the very position 
it used to stand in the old house ; there were 
stores to be put away in inaccessible closets ; old 
furniture, that had just strength enough to stand, 
to be settled into new places. The children had 
to be taught the names of everything. For a long 
time Hannah was sure to bring the wrong thing 
when she was told. Miss Dora found it very 
difficult to teach her precisely the centre of the 
room, Vhere the table was to stand, and how she 
must always place it in a straight line, and how 
the chairs had each its particular position to 
which each one must return whenever it had been 
displaced. 


38 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


The younger children enjoyed this highly. Bes- 
sie brandished high with delight the candlestick 
she was to carry into the parlor. Martha, more 
slowly, and with due reverence, bore along Miss 
Donfs old workbox, to set it on the spider-legged 
table. Little Margie wanted to be useful, and was 
laden with one of the old books that Miss Elspeth 
treasured ; but she was found, some time after, 
sitting on the lower stair, gazing at one of the old 
pictures it contained, and spelling out its black 
letters. Bessie was charmed with the tall peacock* 
feather dustbrush, and waved it about, to the great 
danger of the china ornaments on the dining-room 
mantel-piece, which caused her dusting zeal to be 
speedily checked. Presently, she was heard cry- 
ing out for help. She had tumbled into a high, 
India clothes-basket, whose contents she had been 
investigating. 

“ Lucky it wasn’t the flour barrel,” said Martha. 

Bessie, indeed, was everywhere. Under Miss 
Elspeth’s feet as she carried along a high pile of 
valuable china cups she had been washing ; upset- 
ting poor Hannah’s tacks, as she was nailing down 
the last carpet ; knocking over a little stand in the 
kitchen, where a pan of milk had been incautiously 
placed; pulling the andirons out from under the 
little wood fire that had been built in the parlor, 
to see if the back legs had claws like the front 
ones ; and at last was found even examining Miss 
Dora’s knitting that lay within her reach. She 


SETTLING DOWN. 


39 


had an inquiring mind, and everything was new to 
her; she could not resist touching all that she saw, 
and tasting all that looked good' to eat. But every- 
body was too busy to scold her, except Miss Dora, 
and she scolded everybody. Bessie, too, kept 
wisely out of ‘Miss Dora’s way. At last, Miss 
Elspeth seated her by Margie’s side, and bade 
Margie tell her all about the pictures. 

All day Hannah was kept busy. She was will- 
ing to work, and did not object to an occupation 
new to her, especially an occupation that sent her 
from one duty to another. It entertained her. 
She was interested in finding out why there were 
so many teapots, and so many pitchers, and such 
different utensils for cooking. Poor Hannah’s din- 
ner had always been cooked in one pot ; and that 
the cooking-stove should need so many iron things, 
was a mystery that was long in being solved. 
Miss Dora was a valuable teacher for her in this 
way, for Miss Dora was fond of laying down the 
law, and liked to repeat her directions. She fol- 
lowed Hannah round to see if she did what she 

told her, and to reproach her if she failed. Han- 
nah was not dismayed by such an inexorable task- 
mistress. She had fancied she was going into 

bondage when she promised herself to Miss Els- 

peth for five years, and she did not think enough 
to consider whether it was harder than she ex- 
pected. She faithfully performed all that Miss 
Dora demanded of her, more faithfully than Miss 


40 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


Elspetk had dared to hope. Miss Elspeth’s kind- 
ness, indeed, surprised Hannah far more than Miss 
Dora’s inflexibility. 

Hannah was happy in Bessie’s joy. Sometimes 
Bessie wondered what Steevie was doing, and what 
game “ the boys ” were playing without her, but 
her thoughts were so occupied with the excite- 
ments of her new home, that she had little time to 
recall what she had left behind. “ Meat for din- 
ner,” she whispered with wonder to Hannah at 
dinner-time. Then there were all the joys of the 
garden, and untold pleasure there she might look 
forward to. She went to sleep that night tired 
out with excitement, her cheek flushing, and her 
veins throbbing. 

Hannah left her and went down to the garden. 
It was the first pause of the day, and she stood 
leaning over the garden gate, looking up and 
down the quiet country road. The first day of 
her bondage had passed away, and she was free to 
leave it behind already. She had only to open the 
gate and walk down the winding road. She would 
not be missed for awhile ; she could hide herself 
easily. But Hannah was already, in some degree, 
fenced in. For there are different kinds of fences, 
those we read of in the tropical regions, where 
prickly cactuses grow up rankly, and present an 
armed hedge against enemies, and there are bars 
and bolts that shut in prisoners, and little rustic 
fences that are strong enough to keep us civilized 


SETTLING DOWN. 


41 


people out from our neighbor’s garden. But none 
of these would have restrained Hannah if she had 
felt determined to go back to her old home and 
haunts. The bolts and bars might have held her 
in a little while, but she would have only cher- 
ished more warmly behind them the love of liberty 
that they kept her from. Just now she was 
bounded by the thought of the five years for 
which she had promised herself to Miss Elspeth. 
Nobody had commanded her to make that promise. 
It was her own act, so it was by her own free will 
she stayed there a night longer. Without acknowl- 
edging to herself its nature, somehow she was 
unconsciously bound by that promise. After those 
five years she would do what she pleased. She 
fancied before that time she could “ run away,” 
and she almost began to plan how she could 
accomplish this. She was eager to show herself 
that it might be done any time, and so she looked 
wistfully down the road she had come. They had 
driven out so slowly from Boston, everything was 
so different here from there, she began to think it 
would be quite a long journey back. Still, she 
knew she must remember the way. So, instead of 
thinking of the soft evening air, just lifting the 
fresh leaves budding on the trees, or listening to 
the low twitter of the early birds, she brought 
back the remembrance of every stone upon the 
way. Miss Dora summoned her in. “ Some kin- 
dlings for the kitchen fire to-morrow, Hannah.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE NEIGHBORS. 

Langdale, though its name sounded suspiciously 
new, was not one of the modern-made railroad 
towns. The station lay at a little distance from its 
centre ; and, though the tide of business was 
sweeping into its quiet street, its houses still stood 
*with broad gardens all around them, and old trees 
shading their dooryards. It was a pretty view, up 
and down the village street, from Miss Dora’s gate. 
In the summer, the drooping branches of the trees 
shaded more closely the bend of the street either 
way. One or two houses stood directly on the 
street, a little way down ; but clambering honey- 
suckles and trumpet-flowers hid their deep porches 
and gave them a secluded air. In one of them was 
a milliner’s shop, where Mrs. Paxton’s and Mrs. 
Bunce’s caps were made, and where ribbons might 
be bought. Farther down the street, out of sight, 
was the post-office, and the old tavern, that used to 
be so much frequented before the days of railroads, 
when there was a stage road directly through 
Langdale. There was a grocery store here, too. 


THE NEIGHBORS. 


43 


that had many attractions. Crockery of various 
patterns, tumblers, pewter toys, disputed their 
place in the window, with tobacco pipes and 
lemons. 

But, up the quiet street, in the neighborhood of 
Miss Dora’s house, there were no such tokens of 
trade. Mrs. Paxton’s house stood far baok from 
the street, just below, and close shrubbery shaded 
it from the public view. It was pleasant to Miss 
Dora to visit so respectable a family. Tall borders 
of box along the flower-beds showed how many 
years the flower-garden had been laid out. The 
old trees looked down protectingly upon the house 
that was young when they were. The gravelled 
walks were always carefully rolled, and the plaster 
figures of Flora, and the gardener’s boy, were 
kept thoroughly* clean, and frequently repainted. 

Within the house, everything wore a very ele- 
gant air. Every spring, when Eleonor Paxton came 
home from New York, the drawing-rooms were re- 
opened and rearranged; and through the summer 
she presided there, dressed for callers that seldom 
came, among the fine furniture, or looked at herself 
in the long mirrors, or sat as quietly in one of the 
deep chairs. 

On one side of Miss Dora lived Mrs. Bunce ; on 
the other, the Rothsays. Mrs. Bunce’s house was 
small and low ; and the little green in front of it 
was not separated from the street by any fence or 
paling. The green moss covered its sloping roof, 


44 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


and woodbine hid one side of the house ; and it 
seemed itself like the natural growth of the street 
under the high elms. But no moss grew in the 
steps of its owner. She was busy always, but 
mostly in her neighbors 7 concerns. To this Miss 
Dora did not object. She liked to listen to Mrs. 
Bujrce, .to get a little peep into her neighbors 7 
affairs, W she could get it without trouble ; and she 
had that agreeable complacency of respectable 
people, that led her to think that no one could find 
anything ill to say about her. To be sure, Mrs. 
Bunce troubled her with some close question- 
ings about her affairs, with regard to the chil- 
dren, for instance. “ How long did they expect to 
keep them? Did Martha and Margie’s father do 
anything for them, etc .? 77 Miss Dora referred them 
all to Miss Elspeth’s inscrutability. • 11 It 7 s Elspeth’s 
business , 77 she answered, u and I have nothing to 
do with it. ShQ will have to see, at the end of the 
year, if the two ends meet . 77 

“ They generally do , 77 said Mrs. Bunce, encour- 
agingly, and went on with her remarks upon the 
neighbors. 

She did not approve of Mr. Jasper’s going away, 
lie had been preaching for them three years, and 
she had hoped he was settled for life. But that 
was a thing quite out of fashion now-a-days. The 
ministers, too, were all out of health in these times ; 
she believed they enjoyed ill-health. Everybody 
said that Mr. Jasper needed the change, and that 


THE NEIGHBORS. 


45 


he was wanted in the West, where he was going. 
She did not believe he was needed more than he 
was in Langdale. “ I am sure they have solemni- 
ties and casualties enough, out West, to preach for 
them ! With a steamer bursting up before my 
windows every day, I’m sure I shouldn’t need a 
sermon ! ” 

The affairs of the Rothsays came closely under 
her notice. Theirs was a changing household. 
They were so hospitable in their ways, that their 
house was open to everybody, and always full. 
The country aunts and cousins came there, because 
it was so convenient to go to town from there on 
shopping expeditions. And the city relations came 
for the country air. There was such a nice garden 
and lawn for the children to play in, and plenty of 
fruit in the orchard, — pears, peaches, and apples. 
The invalid friends came there, because Amy cared 
for them so kindly, forestalled all their wants, and 
made the days go by so quickly for them ; and Mrs. 
Rothsay knew so well how to prepare little nice 
things for an invalid’s taste. Then the healthy 
friends liked to go to the Rothsay s because the 
atmosphere was always bright and clear. Frank 
was always full of fun, and Amy always cheerful. 

^ Mr. and Mrs. Rothsay liked to have the children do 
what they pleased ; and it was a household that did 
not oppress with its rules and forms. One of Mrs. 
Rothsay’s nieces, last autumn, had been married 
from there. Mrs. Rothsay had been willing to turn 


46 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


the house topsy-turvy for a wedding. And she had 
even allowed the same rooms to serve for a funeral 
ceremony, because an old aunt, in her last requests, 
had beggeJ to be laid in the burying-place of the 
town where she was born. 

Now and then, some one asked what Amy Rotli- 
say did ? — what her talents were ? — why it was 
she was so generally attractive ? But Amy Roth- 
say had never had the time to cultivate what talents 
she might have possessed. Her time was broken up 
in the cause of other people. She was the centre 
spring in the wmrking of the house ; she filled up 
all its missing links. She was at hand whenever 
she was called for, not only in the house, but in the 
village. In short, her work was what comes under 
the head of “ woman’s work,” so indescribable, so 
undefinable. She did what the others shrunk from 
doing, — the things that nobody else wanted to do. 
She filled the gap made by those who refuse to 
work, and who are insufficient for their position. 
And if she had talents for a higher vocation, she 
sacrificed them silently, perhaps unknowingly, to 
perform lower duties that others should have done, 
doing them so quickly and graciously that they 
became grand. 

In Langdale, the question was, how Amy Roth- 
say could accomplish so much. And Mrs. Bunce 
wondered where she could find time to teach Miss 
Elspeth’s children. For this became a settled 
arrangement'. Amy agreed to have a little school 


THE NEIGHBORS. 


47 


for them for two or three hours every morning. 
She declared she should make time in this way ; 
because if she had a settled occupation every morn- 
ing, she should learn to divide her time more 
punctually, and know whether she had any time in 
the day or not. 

It was an inexpressible comfort to Miss Elspeth 
to have the ready help of Amy. Miss Dora was so 
unsympathizing, so discouraging towards every 
new effort, that quiet Miss Elspeth, timid in her 
ways, might often have shrunk from carrying out 
what she knew to be her duty, if it had not been 
for the ready help of her younger friend. Miss 
Dora was fond of an institution only after it had 
become old and established ; she did not love it in 
its original sense of a beginning. Her life was 
already settling down into its old habits. But one 
of her old habits had been that of complaining, — 
an indulgence that formed part of her happiness. 
She fairly liked to complain, and threw out the 
worst part of her nature in her complaints. She 
was one of that class of people who never think of 
putting cheerfulness and gratitude in their list of 
virtues. In summer, they dislike the heat, because 
it is oppressive ; the cold, because it is unseason- 
able. Autumn always seems gloomy to them ; and 
spring suggests nothing but a cutting east Avind ; 
and the winter is always long and dreary. Ill- 
humor is a happy expression for this disposition of 
mind, for it is the outward appearance of disease 


48 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


within. It must be a diseased eye that conveys 
only sad and distasteful scenes ; a diseased ear, 
that listens only to discords ; and still more, a dis- 
eased heart that dwells upon them, that doubles 
and repeats them in complaint. If it were true that 
such evils predominate in the world over the good, 
then it were surely the duty of every one to avert, 
or rather silently to crush them, rather than to 
reproduce them with their own restless and uneasy 
complainings. But the truth is, it requires some 
little genius to find fault with the year’s changes, 
with the wonderful way it passes through its winter 
and spring, and summer and autumn, to criticise 
day and ijight, sun, moon, and stars ; so the idle 
ones of the earth like to take upon themselves this 
duty, and will probably carry this propensity into a 
11 new heavens ” and a “ new earth.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE CHILDREN. 

Hannah learned very slowly to read, but Miss 
Dora found her in time a valuable acquisition to 
her housework. Bessie was everybody’s favorite. 
It was hard to keep her still enough to teach 
her anything, but it was easy to influence her by 
example. Martha, who was so sedate and quiet, 
and who was a little older than Bessie, could take 
better care of her than any one else. Little 
Margie was a dreamy child. Her large eyes were 
moved round in wonderment upon everything, but 
she was easily pleased and easily cared for. 

The garden was their playground, and each of 
the children had a bit of the border for her own 
private garden. Martha furnished radishes from 
hers before any of the neighbors had raised them, 
and flowers grew wonderfully in Bessie’s, in spite 
of a deal of digging and the row of sticks that she 
had put down to show what she had planted. 
Margie had a great melon in her garden. Frank 
had brought her some melon-seeds which she had 
put into the earth with a variety of flower and 
4 


50 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


vegetable seeds, and the melon had gained the 
mastery. She was quite satisfied with this, and 
spent her spare time sitting on a stone by its side, 
hoping some day to see it grow. 

Frank worked, too, in Miss Elspeth’s garden. 
H is mother’s garden at home, he said, had been 
established so long that it grew of itself, and there 
was not any work left for him. He was fond of 
playing with the children, and made rustic seats 
for them under the apple-tree, and in secluded 
corners of the garden. He often brought George 
Arnold, too, who went every day into town with 
him to school. George was never so active as 
Frank, and he was not a student, either ; but Amy 
and Frank considered him a born artist. The 
margins of all his school-books were filled with 
sketches, caricatures of the schoolmaster, and the 
“ digs ” among the boys. He often sketched 
groups of the children, — even stiff Miss Elspeth 
came into his pictures, and picked up a curve or a 
grace there. Bessie never enjoyed anything so 
much as to sit and watch George while he was 
drawing, while Frank told them a story. They 
would sit on the doorsteps, Frank whittling, Amy 
and Martha sewing, and Margie, with her doll in 
her lap, looking earnestly into Frank’s face, as he 
told some wonderful tale. 

Miss Elspeth sometimes persuaded Miss Dora to 
let Hannah sit upon the doorstep with her work, 
but more often Hannah would prefer to go on with 


THE CHILDREN. 


51 


her dusting and sweeping of the parlor or dining- 
room, stopping now and then with her brush at 
the window, to listen to the climax of the story. 
George and Frank were fond of playing with and 
amusing the children ; but every day, almost, they 
went off on some long expedition of their own, and 
then came Bessie’s time of trouble. She did not 
like the regular school-hours; she did not like 
anything regular, and was every day tempted out 
after the butterflies. Miss Dora was shocked at 
her very thinking of going off with the boys. 
Amy took the children almost every day to walk, 
and soon they learned their way to a pretty grove 
not far away, where they were allowed to play at 
times. 

Miss Elspeth had promised Hannah that she 
should have frequent intelligence of her family, 
and Mrs. Badger agreed to go often to see Mrs. 
O’Connor. The first news served to diminish 
Hannah’s interest in home affairs. Steevie had 
disappeared. The very day after Hannah went 
away, he had left home with the vague words 
about never being seen again. The next intelli- 
gence was that Mrs. O’Connor herself was in the 
House of Correction. One of the poor twins had 
died, and Mrs. Badger had found some one to 
adopt the other, and Mrs. O’Connor’s “ sister’s 
son ” had been sent to a farmer in the country. 
Hannah received quietly all this account of the 
family and the breaking up of the establishment at 


52 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


Board Court. She made some exclamations when 
she heard of Steevie’s departure, and again to 
Miss Elspeth, when she heard that nothing more 
was known of him. In the evening, when Amy 
went to see her and asked her some questions 
about it, she burst into tears. It was the first 
time she had been moved about anything. “ Oh ! 
Miss Amy/’ she said, presently, “ 1 loved Steevie 
better than anybody. How could he ever go 
away without coming to let me know, — without 
coming to see me and Bessie ! Will I never know 
where he has gone ? Oh ! Miss Amy, isn’t there a 
hope if I followed him out into the wide world I 
could find him ? ” 

“ He knows where you are, Hannah ; he will 
come to find you, perhaps,” said Amy, comfortingly. 

“ Oh ! Miss Amy, if he could only be taught 
well, he might learn to be a good boy. I had been 
thinking, that when I got old enough, I would 
teach him something. Such bad ways as he has 
been living in ! I know it now, I didn’t know it 
before. And perhaps he is going on to worse. 
Oh ! I would rather be back on the cold stones in 
Boston than lose Steevie. I can’t bear to stay 
here the night through, and think of him away.” 

“But you could not find him,” said Amy, “if you 
went out to look for him ; “ and Hannah, you can’t 
leave Bessie behind. Think how she needs you, 
and how much you do for her ! ” 

“ There’s plenty to love Bessie,” said Hannah ; 


THE CHILDREN. 


53 


“ I think it was because Steevie loved Bessie so, 
that he must go away from home when she was 
not there. What with me gone, — and I used to 
bring something home every day for them to eat, — 
and Bessie gone, too, who used to make them 
laugh, — no wonder that Steevie couldn’t stay. Miss 
Amy, is it doing good, what Miss Elspeth has done, 
to send him away from his own home ? ” 

“ Miss Elspeth has done you good and Bessie,” 
said Amy, “ and you could none of you have stayed 
at home when your mother was taken away. Per- 
haps, sometime, you’ll be able to do Steevie a 
great good if you take care of yourself and Bessie 
too.” 

“The world is very large out there, isn’t it?” 
said Hannah, pointing up the street. 

’“Don’t think of going into it,” said Amy, anx- 
iously ; “ we will all do our best to find Steevie, 
and you could never find him alone by your- 
self.” 

Hannah stood awhile thoughtfully, and then 
broke off the conversation, saying, “ Miss Dora’ll 
be calling me in to fill the water pitchers, and it’s 
late.” 

It was by no means a smooth stream in Miss 
Dora’s household. Hannah’s and Bessie’s ignor- 
ance of right and wrong frequently upset the tenor 
of its ways. Martha was perhaps over-conscien- 
tious for so^ young a girl. Margie led such a 
dreamy life, she was willing its outer actions 


54 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


should be ordered by others, but often she was 
shocked, as well as Martha, by Bessie’s quick 
impulses. From the beginning there had been 
great trouble in checking Bessie’s fondness for 
helping herself to anything she fancied. With all 
Miss Dora’s watchfulness, there were wonderful 
disappearances from her stores. Bessie was the 
suspected one at first, but it was found that 
Hannah must share the blame with her. Miss 
Elspeth was sorely troubled at this discovery. 
There was some excuse for these two children, 
for, coming into what appeared to them a land of 
plenty and liberality, they could not understand 
why they should be checked in this way. So, at 
least, Bessie pleaded ; “ Miss Elspeth let her eat as 
much bread and milk as she pleased at meal times, 
and what harm was there in eating a little more 
when she chose?” Miss Elspeth told her she 
gave her as much as was best for her when she 
ate her meals, and tried to teach her the laws of 
“ mine and thine.” She had help from Martha in 
teaching Bessie what it was to tell a lie, or to take 
what did not belong to her. 

Martha was very much shocked at the discovery 
of these derelictions of Bessie. One day, after 
school, while the children were playing in their 
favorite corner of the garden, Bessie went into the 
house. She came back with a very mysterious 
air, with something hid in her apron. 

“I’ve brought something for a feast,” she ex- 


THE CHILDREN. 


55 


claimed ; “ it’s some of Miss Dora’s fresh sponge- 
cake.” 

“ Oh ! how good of Miss Dora,” cried Martha ; 
“ did she give it to you ? ” 

“ See how nice it looks,” said Bessie, as she 
unfolded her apron. 

“ But did Miss Dora give it to you ? ” asked 
Martha, anxiously ,* (i Oh ! she never would have 
given us so much of her nice cake. Bessie, I’m 
afraid you took it.” 

“ Well, I did,” said Bessie, “ only Miss Dora will 
never find out. It was all done up in a basket for 
Hannah to take to Mrs. Fay, when she goes down 
street. I got a knife and cut this off, and Mrs. 
Fay won’t know how big the piece was.” 

11 0 Bessie, you would not want to steal, and 
from Miss Dora, too ! ” exclaimed Martha, taking 
the cake out of Bessie’s hands ; “ I’ll take it back 
to Miss Elspeth, and she will put it into the basket 
again.” 

“ I thought you’d like to have the cake,” said 
Bessie, beginning to cry. 

“ 0 Bessie, I’d rather never eat any cake, or 
anything, than steal,” said Martha. 

“ Miss Dora read in the paper,” said Margie, 
“ about a boy that was put in prison because he 
stole.” 

“ Oh, but he stole a whole houseful of things,” 
said Bessie, 11 and this is nothing but a piece of 
cake.” 


56 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ That does not make the difference/’ said Mar- 
tha ; “ I think if anybody stole your pink, your 
pretty pink, you would think it was a very 
naughty thing, and it’s only a flower, and did not 
cost you so much trouble as it did Miss Dora to 
make this cake.” 

“ I guess if anybody stole my melon,” said Mar- 
gie, “ if I had one, and it came ripe, I’d like to 
have him put in the State’s Prison.” 

“ Well, then,” said Bessie, angrily, “ take it back 
to Miss Dora, and tell her all about it, and have 
me scolded and punished. At home, if I had got 
it for Steevie, he’d have been glad, and have taken 
it and have eaten it.” 

Martha stopped, doubtfully. “ I wish you would 
take it back yourself, Bessie,” she said. 

“You won’t persuade me, — ” began Bessie, 
but she was interrupted by the appearance of 
Hannah. She 'had been weeding the peas at a 
little distance, and had heard the whole conver- 
sation. 

“ Give me the cake,” she said, “ and I’ll put it 
back without telling anybody, and nobody will 
ever know.” 

Martha gave it up reluctantly. It was wrong 
not to tell Miss Dora, or at least, Miss Elspeth, she 
thought, but she could not bear to have Bessie 
scoLded, so. she let it go. 

That evening Hannah was leaning in her favor- 
ite place over the gateway. Amy stopped to talk 


THE CHILDREN. 


57 


with her, as she liked to do at such times. She 
wanted Hannah to talk more, — Hannah was so 
quiet always. She had often a sulky air, but at 
this hour she seemed more approachable. This 
evening, Hannah told her directly the talk of the 
children, which she had overheard in the garden. 

“ I think,” said Amy, when she had done, “ that 
you had better have talked with Bessie a little 
about it, and told her how wrong it was to take 
even a little thing that is not her own, and asked 
her to tell Miss Dora about it.” 

u Martha wanted her to tell about it,” said 
Hannah. 

“ And you said nothing of it,” said Amy. u I 
wish you would tell Bessie to speak of it; it would 
be a lesson for her. You might do her a great 
deal of good.” 

u I ! Miss Amy,” exclaimed Hannah, 11 how could 
I tell her, when I am often doing just the same ? ” 

Amy saw the confession was a difficult one for 
Hannah to make. “ The best way,” she said, 
“ would be to tell Bessie that you see that it is 
wrong, and that you do not mean to do such things 
any more, and that you want to teach her the 
right.” 

“It's a little thing, — it’s such a very little 
thing,” said Hannah. 

“ Then it must be a little thing to keep from 
doing ; but by and by, if you have taught yourself 
to take little things that don’t belong to you, you 


58 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE, 


won’t know when to stop. If here, where you 
have plenty to eat, you are in the way of taking 
what does not belong to you, what would happen 
if you ever really needed it ? That poor boy that 
was taken up for stealing was very destitute. 
He stole all that silver, very likely, just to get 
something to eat.” 

“ Oh 1 don’t speak of that boy, said Hannah, 
seizing Amy’s arm, “ for I thought of Steevie. I 
know it isn’t he ; but then, where is he ? ” 

She looked anxiously up the road, and after a 
moment, she said, “ It’s hard to live, Miss Amy, 
isn’t it ? I did not think it would be so. I 
thought, if I only grew up, it would be easy 
enough. There are so many rules and laws. Miss 
Dora talks so much about speaking the truth, and 
Martha about stealing. In Board Court we didn’t 
trouble ourselves much, any way. We did not 
live very happily. They used to quarrel some- 
times, and then the boys would fight ; but we did 
not have to think what would come the next day. 
That’s what troubles me, Miss Amy. I don’t like 
to sweep and wash and work, but I’m willing to 
do it all day long, rather than think what we’ll all 
do, and what we’ll all come to.” 

“ Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth are taking care of 
you now,” said Amy; “you have only to think 
how you’ll please them best.” 

Hannah assented, and gloomily promised to 
speak to Bessie before she went to sleep. 


CHAPTER Y 1 1 1. 


THE PICNIC. 

There came a lovely day in the course of the 
summer. There had been heavy rains for a few 
days, and all the grass and trees were refreshed, 
and the air was soft and delicious. Before Miss 
Dora’s gate stood a carryall and an open wagon ; 
and on the doorsteps were baskets covered with 
napkins. And the younger children were jumping 
up and down the steps, and dancing through the 
alleys with delight. There was so much excite- 
ment going on, that Mrs. Bunce could not resist 
putting her cape bonnet on, and going over to 
see what was happening. 

“ We’re all going on a picnic,” said Amy, who 
stood by the gate. 

“ We’re going to pick whortleberries,” exclaimed 
Bessie. “ And we’re going to take our dinner,” 
said Margie, quite moved. “ And Miss Dora and 
Miss Elspeth are going, too,” said Amy. 

“ Miss Dora going to a picnic ! I should as soon 
think of the steeple’s going ! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Bunce. . 


CO 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ And we children are going in the open wagon, 
with Amy and Frank, and George, if we can only 
stow in,” said Martha. 

Frank and Amy had planned the picnic for the 
children. When Amy proposed it to Hannah, she 
demurred ; she did not think Miss Dora would 
want her to leave, and she could not go unless Miss 
Dora did. “ We will make Miss Dora go,” said 
Amy, suddenly ; and she ran home and persuaded 
her father to give up one day of business and town, 
and go to the picnic. She came back triumphantly 
with him, and Mr. Rothsay went into the house to 
invite Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth to go too. 

“ 1 never like picnics,” said Miss Dora, discour- 
agingly. “ I don’t like sitting on stumps and rocks ; 
and as for sitting on the ground, it reminds me 
always of when I shall lie under it.” 

“ Oh, that’s dreadful!” exclaimed Amy; “but 
we will take you a chair. We will carry one of our 
straw armchairs in the back of the wagon. Frank 
and George can fix that, if that’s all.” 

There were a great many other objections ; but 
Amy had smoothed them off, and Miss Elspeth 
helped to remove them too. “ You don’t mind sit- 
ting on a rock, Miss Elspeth, do you ? ” said Amy ; 
“ and we can take out the carriage cushions, too, for 
you to sit on. And you will admire the glen.” 

“ Oh, a glen ! ” exclaimed Miss Dora. “ I don’t 
like glens ; I shall be sure to tumble in, and you all 
will. , How can you take the children there ? ” 


THE PICNIC. 


61 


“ But this is a very mild glen,” answered Amy. 
11 It’s none of your White Mountain ones. We don’t 
have such in these civilized regions. It’s the 
easiest place to get at you can imagine.” 

So the whole household were to go. Miss Dora 
packed up plates, knives, and forks. She said she 
did not like eating with her fingers, nor using green 
leaves for plates. If the rest wanted to be so 
romantic, they might ; but, at any rate, they should 
have the choice of a china plate. Hannah chopped 
ham with vigor ; and Martha spread the bread for 
sandwiches. Bessie tried to pack up Ralph in a 
basket, to take too, but Miss Dora would not allow 
that. u Ralph wouldn’t enjoy a picnic !” Mrs. 
Bunce was astonished. u What would Eleonora 
Paxton say ? The Irish girls are going to the pic- 
nic, too ! ” 

“ I’m glad if it will amuse her,” laughed Amy. 
u Poor Nora does not have much to entertain her.” 

Mr. Rothsay drove off in the carryall with Mar- 
gie, who was a little afraid of the wagon ; and the 
rest of the children, with Amy, Frank, and George, 
! and Amy’s friend, Bertha Carlton, were packed into 
its seats. Frank sat behind in the straw chair 
devoted to Miss Dora, and George drove the two 
horses. Bertha Carlton’s seat was made as com- 
fortable as possible, for she was fragile and deli- 
cate, and Amy was anxious not to tire her. She 
was older than Amy, and an early school friend of 
hers. She had a clear, transparent complexion, 


62 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


and blue eyes full of thought, with soft, gentle 
manners, and a low voice. 

The party were very merry in the wagon. 
Martha and Bessie were wild with delight at the 
cows in the meadows, the haymakers in the fields, 
at the busy farmhouses, and the birds in the trees. 
Frank pointed out to them every creeping and 
flying thing they passed, and told all sorts of 
strange stories about all they saw. They came to 
an opening in the fringe of trees that skirted one 
side of the road. 

“ Oh, what a view ! ” exclaimed George, as he 
drew up the horses. A broad slope led down to 
where a little river wound through the meadows. 
Graceful elms stood scattered through the fields, 
and a row of low hills rose up the other side, show- 
ing a waving line against the blue sky. 

u Now, girls,” said Frank, u we are to stop here 
all day. George has fallen in love with the view, 
and we must wait till he has put it into his sketch- 
book. Bertha will have to scramble out of the 
wagon and sit under that elm, and we must needs 
all look as pastoral as possible. The finest trout I 
ever caught I lost again, because George insisted 
on my holding it so long over the stream while he 
made a picture of me.” 

"It was but right to immortalize Frank’s only 
trout,” said George. 

It was not long before they reached the ap- 
pointed spot. Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth were 


THE PICNIC. 


63 


carefully handed down the path that led to a 
pretty stream dashing among the rocks. Then 
the girls were taken out of the wagon with the 
rest of its contents, — all Miss Dora’s store closet, 
Frank declared, was there. 

It was a beautiful spot they rested in, on the 
bank of a quiet basin that lay at the foot of a 
sparkling waterfall. It was so shaded below, that 
green moss covered the rocks and stones, and the 
trunks of the old fallen trees. Above, the sun 
gleamed in through the tall pines and the shining- 
leaved oaks and waving birches, and glistened on 
the spray of the waterfall, and lay in streaks over 
its paths. Miss Elspeth stood before it in silent 
pleasure awhile, then she said to Amy, 

“ This makes me all young again. It seems to 
wash out as many as twenty years of town life and 
dry, droning existence.” 

“ 0, dear Miss Elspeth, you are beginning all 
over again. You are starting all fr^sh with us 
and the children,” said Amy. 

Frank, meanwhile, was arranging Miss Dora’s 
chair. There were few even spots in the ground, 
but at last he placed it under a spreading hemlock, 
where there was a pretty view of the waterfall. 
Miss Dora tried this seat, but she thought the 
moss was a little damp for her feet, so she moved 
it. At last she was seated with her back to the 
flowing stream, a bare rock shutting out all view, 
but she was more comfortable, and professed her- 


64 


STRUGGLE FOR LTFE. 


self pleased with her position. Hannah busied 
herself in putting the baskets* and packets in 
shady nooks, and then came to stand by the edge 
of the water. The children were charmed. Bes- 
sie pleaded to be allowed to take off her shoes and 
stockings, and walk in. Martha actually shouted 
with pleasure at the way the spray danced in the 
sunlight, and Margie found directly one gay colum- 
bine, nodding over the edge of the rocks. 

11 Oh ! this is better than my garden,” she ex- 
exclaimed to Amy. Then the children scrambled 
round among the rocks with the help of the elder 
ones, and presently left the little glen for a field 
on the hillside, where they were to find their 
berries. Miss Dora took out her knitting under 
the hemlock, and one of the party, who happened 
back for a moment, found her fast asleep, with a 
yellow butterfly perched on her knitting-needles, 
and a bird singing away just over her head. Mr. 
Bothsay w^s reading his book, stretched on the 
ground, with a rock for his pillow. 

Frank, by and by, left the berry-gatherers, to 
find a place for their dinner. He came back to 
consult Amy. “Here is a rock on the very 
water’s edge, if we can only get Miss Dora there. 
It would make such a charming table, and I think 
she would rather eat from a table than the ground.” 

Amy went to look at it, and was pleased with 
the place. There were rocks for seats all round, 
and room was found, too, for Miss Dora’s chair. 


THE PICNTC. 


65 


“Where’s Hannah, then?” said Frank: “well 
hurry up dinner. We’ll have a tablecloth thrown 
over the rock in grand style.” 

A merry dinner it was. There was a dish of 
the berries, and Amy insisted it must be lined 
with the leaves of the wild grape that hung so 
near. There was cream, which Frank declared he 
had just milked from the cow in the pasture close 
by, but Martha was very sure Amy had taken 
it out from the tin can that came in the wagon. 
Then there never were such sandwiches, nor sucli 
light buns ; and Amy’s cake, that Amy made her- 
self, was perfection. Even Miss Dora was anxious 
to have the receipt for it. Bessie liked nothing 
better than bringing the ffesti water in the silver 
mugs. The waterfall made such a nice pump she 
thought, and pumped itself, too. 

Mr. Rothsay declared he had never eaten such a 
meal. Ho told, too, what he had for dinner when 
he dined with Queen Victoria, and what the Shah 
of Persia treated him to, — nothing, he declared, 
equalled this. Martha whispered to Margie she 
was sure he had never been out of America. Miss 
Dora looked a little uncertainly round upon the 
repast. It was not till her seat was squarely 
placed, and a plate set before her, with her knife 
and fork and napkin duly arranged, that she could 
eat with any comfort, and allow that she enjoyed 
the entertainment. A gleam of delight at length 
came over Miss Dora’s face, as she exclaimed, 
5 


66 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ This does seem like dinner ! ” The salt was not 
forgotten, nor the mustard, for those who did not 
find spice enough in the entertainment itself. 
There was great talking and laughing. The chil- 
dren could hardly sit still with laughter, nor Amy, 
nor Bertha, Mr. Rothsay was so funny. Bertha 
sat leaning against a tree, her brown hair falling 
each side of her face, and an unwonted color in 
her cheeks. Hannah whispered to Amy, 

“ It would be pleasant to live so without any 
houses.” 

“ That is the way the gypsies live,” said Amy, 
and she sung a gypsy song. 

“If we lived that way,” said Frank, “after every 
meal, to save clearii|g up, we’d take the corners 
of the cloth, just so, and toss all the things into 
the stream.” 

As he suited action to the words, Miss Dora 
started up to prevent him from precipitating her 
choice household treasures into the waterfall. 

“ My tankard ! my silver tumblers ! ” she ex- 
claimed. 

The afternoon passed away quietly and quickly. 
Miss Dora took her seat again, and her knitting, 
under the hemlock, and George drew a sketch of 
her. Mr. Rothsay busied himself with Bessie in 
building a dam of stones in the water of the pool. 
Frank tried to make a swing for Martha and 
Margie in the branch of a tree. Bertha and Amy 
seated themselves with Miss Elspcth, and talked 


THE PICNIC. 


67 


quietly with her by the murmuring sound of the 
waterfall. 

Miss Dora made the first move to go. Every- 
body exclaimed that it was so early, and there 
would be a beautiful sunset, and why should they 
hurry away. But Miss Dora was immovable. 

“ There’s Ralph,” at last she said, “ I only left 
milk enough for his dinner, and he’ll be getting 
uneasy.” 

“ Does Miss Dora keep a boy ? ” asked Bertha. 

“ No,” laughed Amy, u it’s her cat. We all 
wondered she could come without him, but I don’t 
suppose Ralph would enjoy a picnic.” 

So the pretty place was left behind, all the 
baskets were carefully filled again, the silver 
counted and packed, and a supply of berries was 
borne away, too. 

“ If Mr. Jasper had been here, he could have 
come with us,” said Amy. 

“We do miss him; it’s a shame he’s gone away,” 
said Frank, “ but it’s just like ministers to be sick 
all the time.” 

“ Oh ! don’t say so,” said Bertha, “ it is so hard 
not to be well.” 

“Well, you are sick, working so much and 
taking care of all those boys,” replied Frank ; “ it 
has done you good already to be away from them 
a whole day.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


MISS elspeth’s troubles. 

There was still more or less talk in the village 
about Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth and the children. 
Mrs. Bunce kept up so constant a surveillance of her 
neighbors’ affairs, that no one was left entirely in 
ignorance of the little commotions that took place, 
or what tempests rose and fell in the little teapot. 

u I wish people wouldn’t ask me so many ques- 
tions,” said Miss Elspeth one day to Amy, “ for they 
are questions I do not like to put to myself. What 
am I going to do with the children when they grow 
up? Shall I always keep them with me ? I have 
not answered these questions satisfactorily to my- 
self, and I don’t care to at present. It is easy 
enough to put people off with the answer that I 
have not decided, which is true. But the constant 
questioning is all the time renewing the subject 
with me, when I would rather let it rest awhile.” 

“ What a pity it is when people don’t have busi- 
ness enough of their own to occupy them,” said 
Amy, “ instead of going off to their neighbors. Do 
you have trouble with anybody but Mrs. Bunce ? ” 


MISS elspeth’s troubles. 


69 


“ Oh yes. only the other day Mrs. and Miss Pax- 
ton called. Both Margie and Martha were sitting 
in the room, and Mrs. Paxton expressed her fear 
that I should find trouble since the children all grew 
up together so, in keeping them in their places 
when they should be older.” 

“ Dear me ! ” said Amy, “ Eleonora Paxton always 
looks to me as if she were afraid of tumbling out 
of her 1 place.’ I don’t think I should like to live 
so high, on so narrow a point, that I can’t move my 
chair back without tipping over ! v 

“ I have always felt,” said Miss Elspeth, “ as if 
Martha and Margie were my own children. When 
their mother died she left them to me, and I meant 
from that moment, -whenever I could make an oppor- 
tunity, to take them home for my own. And I hope 
to live long enough to bring them up as my own, 
to treat them as my children, and if they will stay 
with me, never part with them. Then when I saw 
Hannah, I wanted to take her from her sad position. 
I thought I might teach her to be a good servant, 
that I would teach her to be useful, so that she 
might one day be independent. But if this position 
proved too low for her, I would never think of 
keeping her down in it. I must do by them as I best 
can. God giveth the increase ! ” 

] “ Oh, Miss Elspeth,” said Amy with tears in her 

eyes, “ I am sure you will have help.” 

“ Bessie is my greatest care,” continued Miss 
Elspeth, “ I fear for her more than the others ; she 


70 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


is so pretty, I am afraid her beauty may lift her up 
from whatever position she stands in, even if she 
is fitted for no other.” 

“ Oh, Bessie is such a flower,” said Amy, “ now 
she has light and air enough, surely she must grow 
up pure and healthful.” 

In the evenings of autumn, Hannah often begged 
leave to go out to walk. Miss Elspeth was pleased 
to have her suggest going beyond the bounds of 
the garden sometimes, she had usually been so close 
to her duties. After awhile Hannah picked up a 
new friend with whom she walked up and down the 
street till quite late in the evening. This was 
Janet, a girl who lived at Mrs. Paxton’s. Miss 
Elspeth was disturbed at the discovery of this new 
friendship. She did not like Janet’s appearance. 
She had a bold look, and was very forward in her 
manners, yet she hesitated to check Hannah, who 
had never been in the habit of displaying an at- 
tachment to any one. 

One cold evening late in the autumn, Miss Dora 
came to Miss Elspeth. u Has anybody put away 
my bonnet and mantle ? I left them in the dining- 
room till after tea, because I am going to walk in 
and see how old Mr. Rothsay is to-night ; my gloves 
are there, but my velvet mantle and my scarf and 
bonnet are gone.” Now nobody ever ventured to 
put away anything of Miss Dora’s, for she was the 
one who cleared away what other people left about. 
She never liked to see any clutter, as she called it, 


MISS elspeth’s troubles. 


71 


on the tables and chairs. She would not have her 
parlor look like the Paxtons’ drawing-rooms for the 
world. At the Paxtons there was the centre-table 
in the corner of the room, and so many tables she 
couldn’t find the middle of the room ; the chairs 
where anybody would run against them who came 
in, and the room so dark, she couldn’t see whether 
she was walking over a footstool or the piano which 
took up half one side of the room. Then, when she 
did see the tables, they were all covered up with 
crockery and gimcracks. The first day she went 
there she supposed they had just been having the 
house cleaned, and had laid out on the tables what- 
ever belonged on the closet shelves. 

No such display of bijouterie was found on Miss 
Dora’s tables. No luckless cape-bonnet found a 
resting-place in any hall chair. She not only gave 
out her law that everything should have its place, 
and should be kept in its place, but she was on the 
spot herself to execute her own law if it should be 
neglected. So baskets, and books, and dolls, all 
that the children played with, returned to their 
stated shelves or cupboards, when their time was 
over. The dolls went in and out so often, they 
might almost know their own way. Three books 
only kept their places on Miss Dora’s table ; the 
rest could be found in the dining-room bookcase 
unless they were actually in the hands of some 
reader. 

But Miss Dora seldom went out, and the making 


72 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


a visit was so unusual an event that it required an 
hour or two’s preparation. The velvet mantle was 
neatly folded and laid on a chair, the bonnet placed 
upon that, with the camePs-hair scarf, and the gloves 
rested on the crown of the bonnet, all ready for 
I Miss Dora when the time came for her to go. So 
her dismay was great and not unfounded, when she 
discovered these were all missing. u Is it possible 
Hannah can have taken them? ” she asked whisper- 
ingly of Miss Elspeth. 

“ No indeed,” exclaimed Miss Elspeth, “ perhaps 

you did not take them out, perhaps ” all Miss 

Elspeth’s conjectures were unnatural, and Miss 
Dora’s room and every known place was searched 
in vain for her missing property. At last Bessie, who 
was putting herself to bed with the other children, 
was questioned on the subject, and confessed that 
she had seen Hannah walking away with Miss 
Dora’s things on, but that Hannah had told her she 
must not say anything about it, because she should 
be home before Miss Dora would want them. Miss 
Dora’s indignation for awhile was beyond words. 
She walked down stairs again, opened all the doors 
and windows, leaning out her head to search for the 
missing Hannah. She walked down to the garden 
gate and returned, then went into the kitchen and 
put out the fire there. There was a biscuit left 
upon the stove, that Hannah had not eaten for 
her tea, but had apparently saved for a later meal. 
This Miss Dora put back into the closet, and the 


MISS elspeth’s troubles. 


73 


lamp left burning in the kitchen she extinguished and 
set aside. 11 Pm not going to keep a fire for her to 
sit up by,” she said as she came back, “ she may 
find her way to bed in the dark. I hope it will 
teach her something this bitter cold night.” Then 
she began to pour out her words in anger. She 
detailed all the faults Hannah had committed from 
that very first day she saw her in Boston. She 
went over the unwearied pains she had taken to 
reform her. “ My camel’s-hair scarf ! ” she ex- 
claimed. “ Mrs. Paxton was right when she said 
these emigrants did not know any bounds to their 
insolent ways. And to be seen in them, going up 
and down the street with that Janet ! She had 
better not see me to-night ! ” The garden gate was 
heard to close just as the storm had reached its 
climax. Miss Elspeth retired from the contest. 
She believed it was hopeless to quell it, and Hannah 
had indeed done very wrongly. But she need not 
have feared. There was a sudden calm after this 
great tempest. Miss Bora met Hannah at the 
door. “ You may lay those things in the dining- 
room,” she said ; “ it’s awful cold to-night, and 
there’s no fire in the kitchen. Go into the parlor and 
warm your feet. And if you want anything to eat, 
take the candle there, and look in the closet ; the 
kitchen lamp is out.” And Miss Dora said no more 
upon the subject. This was often her way. Her 
anger expended itself upon the bystanders who 
were at hand at the moment of the offence, and 
there was nothing left to pour out upon the offend- 


74 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


er. But Miss Elspeth was grieved at this and 
with other many disobediences of Hannah, and 
she was the more pained because she believed she 
could trace the evil influence of Janet on many 
occasions. Whenever Miss Elspeth reproved her, 
Hannah looked very stubborn. She listened as if* 
% she were not hearing. Miss Elspeth told her at 
last she did not wish her to walk with Janet any 
more ; that she could not consider her a good 
friend to her. Hannah spoke then with an indiffer- 
ent tone and manner, “ You have taken me away 
from the rest, and now you may as well take me 
away from her. I’ll be shut up in your house 
with all of you, and not speak to any of them. But 
I don’t do it to please you, but because I choose. 
And I will go away if I choose. No one can pre- 
vent me.” “ Somebody else has taught you such 
language,” said Miss Elspeth ; “ you have not been 
so happy since you have made new friends. When 
you remember last summer, you will think so too.” 

Hannah did think about it, and perhaps agreed 
with Miss Elspeth. She kept for awhile at home 
more closely, going only where she was sent, and 
never stopping to talk with Janet. But she did 
not do this willingly. She showed ill-temper 
towards the children, and went through her duties 
stubbornly. Miss Elspeth was discouraged about 
her, and hoped for some change in the winter, 
when she meant to send her to school, where she 
thought Hannah might find companions with whom 
she could be trusted, 


CHAPTER X. 


THE CIRCUS. 

Frank and Amy came one day to take the 
children to a circns there was in town. 

“ Shall we really go into the big tent ? ” asked 
Margie ; “ 1 was a little afraid of it the other day ; 
I thought there must be soldiers in it.” 

“ Pooh ! soldiers,” said Bessie ; “ no, there are 
nothing but horses. Steevie went to one once, — 
oh ! a great many times, and he told me all about 
it. The horses know as much as the men.” 

“Oh! they could not know- as much as men,” 
said Martha ; “ a horse never talks.” 

“ Well, I don’t know about his talking, but one 
of the horses ate bread and butter, and Steevie 
said there was a little girl about as big as me, 
dressed all in silver.” 

“ Come, come,” interrupted Miss Dora, “ what’s 
all this talking? The dinner things must all be 
put away. Hannah’s going to the circus, and you 
don’t mean she shall do all 'the work. I sec your 
heads are half turned now, and I am sure they 
will be wholly after you come home.” 


76 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


Margie slowly put her chair against the side of 
the room, and then came to Amy to whisper, 

“ I don’t want to go to the circus if it will turn 
my head round, I’m afraid of it.” 

Amy laughed, _and encouraged Margie. “ Oh, 
we are only going to see the horses ride. You 
will like to see how prettily they look, and we 
shall sit on benches to look at them, and they will 
not come near us.” 

“And shall we see the horse eat bread and 
butter ? ” asked Margie. 

“ We shall see something very funny, that will 
make you laugh,” said Amy, “and you shall sit 
between me and Frank. We will take good care 
of you.” 

“We shall see the clown,” said Hannah, who 
looked more radiant than she had done for a long 
time. 

On the way, she walked by Amy, and said, “ I 
am very glad we are going to the circus. Janet 
told me she had looked in between the curtains of 
the tents. She stood there all the afternoon. I 
had much rather go inside.” 

“How came you to see Janet? I thought you 
did not talk to her now,” asked Amy. 

“ She comes sometimes to see me at the garden 
gate, and then I can’t help talking to her ; and I 
don’t want to help it now. She told me she had 
seen a boy inside the tent carrying round oranges, 
and she thinks it was Steevie, and three after- 


THE CIRCUS. 


77 


noons slie has been to try to look and see if it is 
he, but she don’t know yet. Once I asked Miss 
Elspeth if I might go too, but she would not 
let me.” 

“ 0 Hannah, why didn’t you tell her your rea- 
son?” said Amy; “ anybody else could find out for 
you better than Janet. Frank or my father would 
have inquired for you. What made you think this 
boy may be Steevie ?'” 

“ Janet described him to me. This boy belongs 
to the circus, and sells oranges there, and Janet 
heard him say he would one day be a rider, and 
that is what Steevie always wanted to be,” said 
Hannah. 

“ And is this all that makes you think it may be 
Steevie?” asked Amy. 

“ Oh ! he .must be somewhere, Miss Amy,” said 
Hannah, u and I must see him somehow.” 

As they approached the entrance of the circus, 
Amy whispered to George what Hannah had said 
and wanted. They made their way in through a 
crowd, and seated themselves on one of the hard, 
wooden seats. They had not been long seated, 
when the cry was heard of, “ Oranges ! fresh 
oranges ! ” 

Hannah half rose up, and presently there made 
his way along an ill-dressed boy, with yellow hair, 
and an air of great business talent. George beck- 
oned to him, but Hannah pulled Amy’s sleeve. 


78 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ Oh ! it isn’t Steevie, that is not like Steevie,” 
she exclaimed. 

George asked him some questions. 

“ I’m attached to the establishment, sir,” he 
answered ; u I’ve taken out a patent right for the 
trade, and you can’t get ’em cheaper. Six for 
ninepence,” and so forth. 

“ But don’t you have anybody to help you ? ” 
asked George, as he treated the children, who 
had been looking at them with longing eyes, to 
oranges. 

“ There’s a feller has got lozengers down there,” 
said the boy, pocketing his money; “ there isn’t 
another in the establishment. 

u Send along the lozenge boy,” said George, 
11 we’ll have some lozenges too.” 

The lozenge boy proved a little fellow, hardly 
higher than the benches, and Hannah turned her 
head away from him in despair. 11 Oh ! Janet did 
not tell the truth. I believed her, Miss Amy,” 
she said ; u she told me just what he wore, and 
how dark was his hair, and his way, she told me, 
was just like Steevie’s.” 

“ But how could she know ? ” asked Amy ; “ she 
had never seen him.” 

“ Oh, I had talked so much about him. I told 
her just how he looked,” answered Hannah, “ and 
she thought she must have met him once. But 
she was not telling me right. It wasn’t the truth 
she was telling mo. She wanted to get me away, 


THE CIRCUS. 


79 


and make me come to the circus without Miss 
Elspeth’s leave, and she would like to have me 
never go back there.” 

“ But why would she like to take you away 
from Miss Elspeth ? ” asked Amy. 

“Oh, she wants to join the circus too, and says 
they could teach us anything; and I thought if 
Steevie was here — ” Hannah paused a little. 

- “ You did not think of leaving Miss Elspeth, 
and coming here ! ” exclaimed Amy. 

But the performances were beginning, and the 
attention of the children was quite taken up with 
the wonders that took place. The little ponies 
were their great joy, and the way they breakfasted 
at the table ; and they laughed at the jokes of the 
clown, though they did not understand what they 
meant, but he made up such a funny face that 
they could not help laughing if they had tried not 
to. And there was children’s laughter sounding 
all about, so that the elders could not help laugh- 
ing, too, even if they thought the whole thing 
very silly and not worth looking at. And then 
there were beautiful ladies, that must be either 
queens or fairies, though Martha thought neither 
queens nor fairies rode on horseback. But their 
dresses shone and glittered so that Bessie believed 
they might have bought them of the fairies.' Bes- 
sie thought it must be very easy to jump through 
a ring down upon the horse’s back again, and 
asked Frank if he did not think he could do it 
any day. 


80 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


But they were all the most enchanted with the 
little girl that came on with such rosy cheeks and 
blue muslin dress, with real roses all over it, 
or something that looked like real roses. Hannah 
fixed her eyes upon her. The ‘little girl, she 
thought, looked more like a queen than all the 
ladies had done. She gave out her commands 
with a smiling royal air, and said what she would 
have as if she knew she would be obeyed. She 
looked so happy, too, and kept time with the music 
in all her motions. 

Going home, they all agreed the little girl was 
the best part of the performance, — all but Margie, 
who would like to have the little ponies. Hannah 
was so taken up with her pleasure that she seemed 
to have forgotten for awhile her disappointment. 
When they reached the gate, Amy said to Hannah, 
“ It is not too cold for me to talk a little while 
at the gate with you after supper, and the chil- 
dren have gone to bed.” 

“ In quick to your supper, and then to bed,” 
was Miss Dora’s greeting to the children, “ and 
don’t let’s have any talking. You have had enough 
of that ! ” 

“Are my eyes looking at my heels?” asked Mar- 
gie of Miss Elspeth. “Frank put me into the gate, 
and said if I did not run quick I should see them.” 

“ Oh, Frank was only laughing,” said Miss Els- 
peth, as she gave the children their bread and milk. 

“ He thought our heads would be turned,” said 
Martha, “ but mine isn’t.” 


THE CIRCUS. 


81 


Bessie began to tell Miss Elspeth all about what 
she had seen, and Margie interrupted with her ex- 
clamations, and Martha began at the beginning, to 
tell how everything was, and exactly what hap- 
pened. 

But they were tired enough to be quiet, at last, 
and willing to go to bed. Miss Dora put on her 
mantle to go over and talk with Mrs. Bunce, and 
tell her where the children had been, and agree 
with her that she did not think it was the place for 
children to go to, and that it only made them wild 
and unmanageable the next day. 

Miss Elspeth was walking up and down in the 
garden in the fading light, walking quickly to keep 
warm in the cool air of the approaching night. 
Amy came to the garden gate, but she did not find 
Hannah there, and went on to the house. She 
found Hannah had just lighted the candles in the 
parlor, and had placed them in front of the mirror, 
and was looking at herself in the glass. She 
turned round as Amy came in, and said presently, 
u It would not do. All the roses, and gold, and 
muslin dresses, would not make me beautiful. I 
did not think of that before. How different I am 
from that child ! Oh, look in the glass, Miss Amy.” 

Amy looked, and saw there, indeed, Hannah’s 
worn face and tired-looking eyes. She had not 
gained the air of healthiness the other children 
wore. She never had the freshness of childhood. 
There was the same wistful glance that had first 
6 


82 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


appealed to Miss Elspeth, and the same drooping 
figure. “ Miss Elspeth will have to nurse you, to 
make you strong,” said Amy. u You don’t look 
well, Hannah. I have thought of it before.” 

u It’s the beautiful face I am thinking of,” said 
Hannah, u that never was mine and never will be. 
Oh, Miss Amy, I would like to be like that child, 
so beautiful and happy.” 

“ Don’t you know, Hannah,” said Amy, “that the 
roses were not real she wore, and what seemed like 
gold was not gold. Her beauty, I think, was not 
more real, Hannah, or her happiness. Perhaps 
they paint her cheeks to make them look rosy 
and healthy, and they teach her to laugh to make 
her look happy. Ob, think, Hannah, how hard it 
must be to have to laugh for one’s w T ork, to have to 
dance when you feel tired, and to smile when you 
feel sick and weary. And every afternoon this 
poor child must come in and look the same, and 
appear as happy, and all to earn bread, and some- 
thing to live upon.” 

11 It does not seem like work,” said Hannah, as 
she listened intently. 

“ If you could see the child, she would tell you 
it must be,” said Amy. “ Perhaps they treat her 
kindly, but even if they do, she must every day go 
through this same work, whether she chooses or 
not. She is bound as closely as any one you know, 
and has to work as hard.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


ONE YEAR GONE. 

The winter, with its regular hours of school, had 
a beneficial effect upon Hannah. When the spring 
came, and she had been a whole year with Miss 
Elspeth, she showed a decided improvement in all 
her appearance, and though she was never joyous, 
wore a contented and happy air. 

Miss Elspeth looked back upon the year’s exper- 
iment, for she could scarcely look upon the year as 
otherwise than an experiment, and had reason to 
be deeply satisfied. It had been a year of great 
labor and responsibility to her. Miss Dora was no 
help in encouraging her here. When anything 
went wrong, Miss Dora would constantly speak of 
it as Elspeth’s enterprise, and openly reproach her 
for the additional trouble her romantic plans had 
brought into their quiet household. But for all the 
days of Hannah’s faithful service, for the entertain- 
ment that, in spite of herself, the children afforded 
her, for the gayer, more cheerful life that had taken 
the place of their former monotonous existence; 
for all this, Miss Dora never thought of bringing 


84 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


thanks to Miss Elspeth. And her influence was not 
very favorable for the children. They had soon 
discovered how much Miss Dora’s scolding meant, 
and they found her much more indulgent to their 
desires, however unreasonable, than Miss Elspeth. 

“Miss Dora talks so all day,” Bessie would say, 
“that I don’t mind whether she’s talking at me or 
the door-post. And then I run off, and Hannah or 
somebody else stops to listen.” 

Miss Dora would rather say, “yes, yes,” to any 
of their requests, than take the trouble to see if it 
were best to grant it. “ Take it, and go, only don’t 
stop here to tease;” was the answer usually ex- 
pected by the trembling claimant. Miss Elspeth 
was more conscientious, and weighed, too closely 
perhaps, every little question, — whether it would 
be best for Bessie, to grant her this, or whether 
Margie should be encouraged to do that. But, in 
spite of doubt and speculation, time went on 
and the little household affairs, and the children 
gathered up here and . there much good and very 
little ill. 

In the spring, George Arnold was to go away, all 
the way to China. There had been great doubt 
what his father would do with him. lie had been 
kept at school the longer, because his father could 
not decide the question. He wanted to make his 
son a merchant, and George had other tastes, and 
preferred college, or to be educated as a scientific 
man. But now it was decided he was to make a 


ONE YEAR GONE. 


85 


voyage to China, before anything else was deter- 
mined, and George was ready enough to go. 

Hannah had been sent to the station on an er- 
rand. She met Amy there, who had gone to bid 
George good-bye. Frank was to accompany him * 
into town, to see him on board of his vessel. They 
were standing on the platform — 

u I shall bring home a whole portfolio of sketches, 
Amy,” said George, as they waited, “and shall make 
such paintings of the storms at sea, that your hair 
will stand on end. I don’t mean to give up my 
drawing and painting, whatever else I may do.” 

Amy tried to speak cheerfully, “ You’ll make 
your fortune, and then come home and settle down 
into an artist.” 

“I shall have to make my fortune in a year, 
then,” said George, 11 for I mean to come home in 
a year at any rate. And if I am to be an artist, it 
is time I began. Oh, Amy, I see it now. It is all 
folly, all this time is wasted. These last few years 
I ought to have been doing something. Oh, why 
couldn’t my father have let me follow out my 
tastes ! Last week when he proposed to me to go, 

I thought I might go for the sake of the voyage 
and the experience, but it is only using up another 
precious year of my life. It won’t make me a mer- 
chant, it will only unmake me what I am. Why 
did he not throw away my pencils when I was five 
years old, and shut me up in an office, if he wanted 
to stifle me there ? One more year lost. Amy ! 


86 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


An artist, Amy ! At my age an artist ought to be 
an artist, but what am I?” 

The whistle of the steam engine was heard sig- 
nalling its approach. “ Oh, it is not too late now, 
George,” Amy said earnestly. “ You will see your 
father in town. Don’t go, to throw away your life ! 
Only speak to' him, as you can speak, and I am sure 
he will listen to you ! ” 

Frank’s foot was on the step of the car. He 
turned back for George. George looked into Amy’s 
face. “ If I lose my life, Amy, you know I am to 
come to you to find it again.” 

The train had gone, and Amy turned to find 
Hannah by her side, waiting to walk home with her. 
Amy had meant to take the winding path home 
through the woods. She wanted a little quiet time 
to think. She wanted to ask how it was everything 
must go so wrong for George, and whether she 
might have done anything to make it different. 
She had so great an influence over George, and 
what had she done with it ? That last shrill sound 
of the steam-whistle, as he was carried away, was 
ringing still in her ears, and she wanted the gentle, 
soothing sounds of the whispering leaves in the 
pine woods. 

There was left a great vacant space around her, 
now that he was gone for a whole year. She 
wanted to go and lean against the shaded rock that 
the pine tassels covered, and hide her face in her 
hands, and think. Presently, she must go home to 


ONE YEAR GONE. 


87 


work, but now she needed a few moments’ solitude, 
a few words with herself, to reproach herself that 
she could not have found better words at parting, 
that she had not been a better friend before the 
parting came. She had thought it very strange 
George had consented so willingly to go away, 
without having made any appeal to his father that 
he might stay. The old talk of his devoting him- 
self to his art, of going to Europe to give himself 
up to study of the old masters and the new, all this 
had been lately forgotten or set aside. Those last 
words of George were very true. .The last years 
of his life had been, as it were, wasted. He had 
devoted himself neither to his art nor to study of 
any sort. He had dreamed them, happily enough, 
away. Neither Amy nor he were conscious that it 
had been an aimless life. Sometime or other he 
had meant to speak to his father about his wishes, 
and urge him to give up this cherished plan of 
making a merchant of him, but the decisive moment 
had never come. Mr. Arnold had moved to New 
York from Boston, a few years before, and had left 
his son at school there. George only saw his 
father in his vacations, and not much of him then, 
for his vacations were frequently spent in travel- 
ling and wandering among the mountains. He 
had always supposed that, sometime or other, he 
should be able to show his father that he was able 
to do something superior to plodding on in the 
common ways. Amy believed this too. She thought 


88 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


every year that George would find some way to 
show the real talent and genius that he possessed. 
But the days passed on without any change, until 
Mr. Arnold made the sudden proposal that George 
should go to Canton. And George, attracted by 
the idea of the voyage, thinking it was only for a 
year he was to be gone, agreed directly to the pro- 
posal. Amy had wondered, and had been a little 
disappointed, that he had so easily acceded. It 
seemed like directly consenting to his father’s plans, 
without coming to any explanation with him. It 
was like promising himself to him for the years 
that should follow. But in the hurry of departure, 
for George did not have time even to go on to New 
York to bid his mother good-bye, in the bustle of 
preparation, Amy could have no serious talk with 
him. The very evening before he left, some friends 
came out of town to bid him good-bye, and she had 
no chance to speak with him. She brought herself 
to think that George was deciding that his duty 
led him to follow his father’s will, and that he 
meant to make a sacrifice of his tastes. She was 
willing to admire him for this; she only wished his 
father might know how great this sacrifice was; 
she only hoped it was right George should lay 
aside all his high ambitions, and throw away, as it 
were, the great gifts he possessed. 

But these ideas of duty had not risen up in 
George’s mind. He had yielded to the proposal of 
the moment, as all through his life he had yielded 


ONE YEAR GONE. 


89 


to circumstances; Yet as they walked silently 
through the wood-path to the station, the quiet 
nooks that opened themselves on each side, the 
broad-spreading trees that hung above rocky seats 
brought back the remembrance of the old enthusi- 
astic talks they had all had, when they used to go 
and pass long mornings there. Such great imagi- 
nations as they had formed there ! George was to 
go sometime to the old world, and study the inspir- 
ation of all its old stories and works of wonder, 
and then he was to come back into these very woods, 
bringing home a fresh love for the tall old trees, 
and the new life that sprung up every year beneath 
them, and then he was to show what the artist of 
the new world could be ! All these promises and 
aspirations came back suddenly and reproachfully 
now. At the last moments of parting, came the 
sudden thought that this was the decisive act that 
was to cut him off from these old dreams, that he 
was to leave them behind as dreams, and promise 
himself to that other life of activity that he had 
never fitted himself for. 

Just one moment can suddenly reveal hidden 
feelings ! Those last words had awakened Amy. 
They showed her, what she had not told herself be- 
fore, that she was bound to George, all her heart, 
her whole soul. They showed her at the same 
time that he needed her. Not* in this moment did 
she confess to herself that she was any way stronger 
than he, nor ever would she feel this ! She believed 


90 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


he was so much above her in his genius and his 
talent, she had always looked upon him with such 
admiration, had loved his great thoughts and en- 
thusiastic hopes, that she did not see, and she never 
saw, that she was greater than he in her steadfast- 
ness, and that he must depend on her for his faith. 
Only she saw now that he did depend on her, and 
that she was truly to “ find his life ” for him. But 
he had gone away for a whole year, and she felt as 
if she were standing quite alone in a broad desert 
place. 

She turned away, as her eyes came back along 
the two black lines of the railway to the station, 
already quiet and empty again. The noise and 
the rush of the cars were over, and the whistling 
and panting of the engine. There was an empty 
space in front of Amy where the cars had stood, 
and black cinders were scattered in among the 
little spires of grass that tried to grow between 
the rails. • The sound of hurrying wheels had died 
away from the station. Hannah stood by Amy, 
and asked, 

“Are you going home now? I have been to 
get the eggs. This pretty little basket is Miss 
Elspeth’s egg-basket/’ she added, as she thought 
Amy looked at her inquiringly. Amy recovered 
herself, and walked down into the road with her 
as Hannah began to* talk. 

u Did you remember, Miss Amy, it’s just a year 
yesterday since we all came here? Miss Dora 


ONE YEAR GONE. 


91 


made a cake in honor of it, and we would have 
brought you in a piece last night, but Miss Elspeth 
thought you would be busy about Mr. George’s 
going away. I thought a year would be so very 
long. Do you remember, Miss Amy, you told me 
one year wouldn’t be so very long, and that five 
years would soon be over ? ” 

11 Did I tell you one year would not be very 
long?” asked Amy, dreamily. 

“ Yes, and I have remembered a great deal 
you told me,” said Hannah. “ That night after 
the circus, when I felt so bad, — oh, you don’t 
know how wicked ! — you spoke to me about work; 
and another time you told me how everybody 
needed to work, and how it made everybody hap- 
pier. It sounds better than it used to, but I don’t 
get accustomed to it yet. Wouldn’t you truly, 
Miss Amy, like to change places with Miss Pax- 
ton ? ” 

“ Change places with Miss Paxton ! ” exclaimed 
Amy, rousing herself. 

“ I do believe she lies on the sofa or sits in her 
chair all the day long,” said Hannah ; “ and then 
she looks so handsomely, and all the day long has 
nothing to do.” 

“ Nothing to do, indeed, Hannah,” said Amy ; 
“ when I was there a few evenings ago, she 
looked to me so tired, she was leaning back in her 
chair so languidly, that I fancied she must have 
been riding on horseback, or tiring herself some 
way, and I asked her ; but she said she had not 


02 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


even walked out. She had been so interested in a 
book she had, that she did not lay it down all the 
morning, and she was so sorry she had finished it, 
she had nothing left to do. What made her so 
tired, was nothing to do. 0 Hannah, I would 
rather suffer a great deal than be Miss Paxton ! ” 

“ And once you said that working for other 
people would make me happy,” said Hannah ; 
“you wanted me to work for Bessie, for Miss 
Elspeth.” 

When they reached the garden gate, Amy said, 
“ That is true, Hannah ; caring for others, and 
working for them, must be our only happiness.” 

“ And will that make the years go by ? ” asked 
Hannah. 

“ We must not be willing they should go by any 
other way,” said Amy, “ whether they go slow or 
fast.” 

Amy walked directly home, and wondered if she 
must look back to her own words for consolation 
now. She wanted consolation, though she felt she 
had just gained a very great happiness. It was a 
happiness that came attended by a great care. 
She must have faith in the future, and was to 
nourish it by a cheerful life in the little details 
that to-day and to-morrow must bring. 

Evening came, and Frank came out to say that 
George had sailed, and he only wished he could 
be going too, it was such a famous vessel and such 
a fine long voyage. 


CHAPTER XII. 


CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 

Hannah’s five years did pass away. They 
brought little change on the outer face of Lang- 
dale. The elm-trees rose a little higher into the 
heavens, and the maples had spread themselves 
more widely. The vine had grown thick over 
Miss Dora’s porch, and the green moss had spread 
on the roof of Mrs. Bunce’s house. The shrubbery 
was darker and closer round the Paxtons’, and the 
border of box in the garden stood higher and 
stiffer, and no flowers ventured to grow in the 
midst of its shade. There was very little change 
here in the midst of the village. Further up the 
street, Mr. Fay’s grounds had been cut up into 
separate building lots, and where his wide lawn 
lay, were as many as seven cottages of a pretty 
pattern, but all exactly alike, and the grand old 
elm that stood in the corner had been cut down to 
make way for some stores, and in that part of the 
town there was a great air of business and life. 

Within the houses, the change had been for the 


94 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


most part slow and gradual. Eleonora Paxton had 
been married, and had gone to Europe with her 
husband, but her departure had left no great 
chasm for those outside of the Paxtons’ house. 
Mr. Strange, in his visits to Langdale, and at the 
time of his marriage to Eleonora, had created a 
little excitement in the village, tie was handsome, 
quite handsome enough for Eleonora. Some peo- 
ple thought him stiff, some elegant, in his manners. 
Amy thought he had very little to say for himself, 
or for anybody else. Though she did not say so, 
she felt he was very well fitted for Eleonora. If 
either had shown any warm, expressive feelings, 
they would have been checked by the icy chilli- 
ness of the other. She fancied them two stately 
icebergs, and wondered if they would ever be 
moved into the current of a warmer sea. 

There was change at the Rothsays. The old 
grandfather had died, Mr. Rothsay had been unfor- 
tunate in business, and had been growing poorer 
and poorer, and the walks around the house showed 
the need of attention and care. There was still a 
home at the Rothsays for all the homeless. Besides 
the aunt who was so great an invalid, a widowed 
sister of Mr. Rothsay, Mrs. Campbell, with her 
two girls and her boy, came to live there. And 
Mrs. Rothsay herself had been very ill, and had 
never recovered her strength from the long fever 
she had. But Amy was still joyous and lovely, 
and one would say she looked as young as when 


CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 


95 


she first welcomed Miss Elspeth to Langdale. Per- 
haps her gayety might be called cheerfulness, but 
it was as flowing and ready as when she was six- 
teen. She greeted her father joyously when he 
came out from town weary at night; she had a 
happy sympathy for Frank when he came home 
Saturdays from Cambridge. She was busy always, 
everywhere, and at home. She did her best to 
weed the borders in the large old garden that 
missed the daily care of a gardener. She raked 
away the leaves from the avenue to the door in 
autumn, and trained the vines round the piazza in 
summer. While within the house there were many 
duties. She was the favorite of the little cousins 
whom she cared 'for, and taught, too, and the 
watchful nurse of her mother and the invalid aunt. 
She did not neglect Miss Elspeth and her house- 
hold in the many cares of her own. She was still 
Miss Elspeth’s confidant, and adviser even, and the 
friend of the children. 

With the children there was no. marked change. 
Bessie was scarcely more sober or quiet. Her 
thick brown curls and fresh color, and her warm, 
loving eyes, made her still the beauty of the 
household, and helped to make her the pet. 
Martha was still very wise and good, and still kept 
Bessie’s overflowing spirits in check. Margie’s 
eyes were large and dreamy still. She loved to 
read all the books that she could find, and, even 
those the other children considered the dullest, she 


96 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


lingered over, making of them, with her imagina- 
tion, something very entrancing. 

And Hannah’s five years had passed away. 
They had added a little to her height, and she had 
grown more robust, and was more healthy in her 
1 appearance. But in her face was still the old 
expression, that eager, wistful questioning, as if 
there were something within her still unsatisfied. 
She had never shown, the last four years, any 
uneasiness or desire to go away from Miss Elspeth, 
and she had displayed more personal attachment 
for both Miss Dora and Miss Elspeth as the time 
passed on. But there still lingered this uncertain 
expression in her face which the first ten years of 
a wandering life had marked there, and that so 
many days of monotonous duty had not been able 
to drive away. 

Miss Elspeth had talked with Hannah about her 
plans after her five years should be over. Hannah 
had been to school every winter, and had lessons 
with Amy in the summer, but she had never shown 
any particular aptitude or fondness for study. 
Martha, and even Margie, were far beyond her in 
many of their school acquirements. Under Miss 
Elspetli’s care, she had learned to sew excellently, 
and, thanks to Miss Dora’s surveillance, she was 
very neat and methodical about all household 
duties. 

What should Miss Elspeth do with her ? Martha 
was old enough now to take Hannah’s place in the 


CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 


97 


house, in some measure, and Hannah ought, for her 
own sake, to be earning some wages. This Miss 
Elspeth told Hannah, and Hannah listened silently. 
After a day or two, she spoke with Miss Elspeth. 
“ I will do what you please, Miss Elspeth,” she 
said ; “ I had thought when the five years were 
over, I would go somewhere very far away. I 
believed that in five years I should be very differ- 
ent, somehow, with power to do what I pleased. I 
thought I could go away, and take care of myself. 
But I will not go quite yet. I should like to earn 
some money. I should like to have something of 
my own. I am willing to work for it, if you will 
tell me how.” 

The question was still further decided when 
Amy heard what was under discussion. Then she 
begged that Hannah might come to them for the 
summer months. She had been thinking they 
should want some help at home, through the sum- 
mer, when they had so much company, and espe- 
cially now, because Katy the cook was not well 
and strong. “ I’d work for you without wages, 
you know,” said Hannah to Amy. But Amy 
laughed, and told Hannah she was quite too valu- 
able for that. And very valuable Hannah’s ser- 
vices were. Miss Dora’s training had fitted her 
for many kinds of household experience. She was 
to stay with the Rothsays through the summer 
months, and then she was to go to the Carltons. 
Hannah was quite in demand in Langdale. 

7 


98 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


One day she was dusting the parlor at the Roth 
says, tenderly, as was her wont. Here, on the 
tables and the mantelpiece, were many treasures 
of Amy’s. Hannah had observed how carefully 
Amy treated these, and she felt very proud when 
she was allowed to take care of the parlor. Mrs. 
Rothsay complained sometimes that Hannah lin- 
gered too long over this part of her labors, but she 
was touched with the reverent feeling Hannah 
seemed to entertain for everything in the room. 

Hannah was passing her duster carefully around 
the frame of a little picture as Amy came into the 
room with fresh flowers. 

“ It seems many years, Miss Amy,” she said, 
“ since Mr. George drew this picture. There’s 
Miss Dora with her knitting under the hemlock. 
She looks as though she were sitting there now. 
And those pine cones in the frame ! I remember 
when Mr. Frank brought them home as if it were 
only yesterday ! Who would ever have thought 
Mr. George would stay away so long ? ” 

“We could not have believed it when he went 
away,” said Amy. 

“And will he come home next spring ? ” asked 
Hannah. 

“ So we/think ; so we hope,” answered Amy. 

“ I could not quite think your letter that came 
the other day^ told you Mr. George was coming 
home,” said Hannah, “ Miss Amy, you have been 
so still ever since, and quiet ; you have not been 


CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 


99 


round the house singing as you always do. I 
couldn’t help thinking about you that something 
was the matter, that you did not seem like your- 
self.” 

“ Sometimes,” said Amy, u it makes one very 
quiet to be very happy. And to look forward to 
next spring, seems to me now almost as long as to 
look forward a year five years ago.” 

Amy was speaking now as if there were no one 
listening to her ! She was standing before the 
picture Hannah had spoken of, and, as she looked 
at it, the tears came into her eyes. “ I have had a 
great disappointment, and yet I am infinitely 
happy,” she said. “ Five years ago I wanted to be 
happy just one way. I was so full of hope that I 
was very sure I could only be happy that way. If 
I could have looked forward to know that all those 
hopes would have utterly faded, my heart would 
have died out within me. It was very merciful 
that I could see but one step before me.” 

“ But you could not be unhappy, Miss Amy,” 
exclaimed Hannah. “ Oh, such as you ought to be 
happy every way. Can you talk of being happy 
only one way ? It is such as I, that have been 
picked up in the streets, starving and homeless, 
that think of only one way to be happy, and that is 
shut out after all.” 

“ You make me ashamed,” said Amy, kindly. “I 
am afraid I have nourished a complaining heart ! ” 

u You, Miss Amy,” said Hannah, “ that can smile 


100 STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 

for everybody, and make the whole house so 
happy ! Nobody ever saw a complaining heart in 
you. In Mrs. Campbell’s sick-room, dark as it is, 
you make a lightAvhen you come in. And every- 
body is happy just to look at you.” 

“ I have been cheerful, Hannah,” said Amy, “be- 
cause I taught myself it was my duty. I ought to 
have been cheerful, because I have had so much' 
given me to enjoy. But look, how we are forget- 
ting our work. We will open the piano, and let 
us set this vase of flowers just above the open 
keys, and we will let in just a gleam of light 
through the window here. And this little table, 
with its dish of gay flowers, shall stand by the 
easy-chair ! How inviting it looks ! Any one who 
came into such a pleasant parlor would want to 
stay. The room looks as if we had been happy in 
it ! We must make that same air linger in it still. 
It will give us pleasure, just as a perfume brings 
back happy remembrances. But we must go to 
work, and when we get through, Hannah, we will 
sit on the piazza, with our sewing, till the children 
come home from the woods, and I will tell you 
what has been troubling me the last five years.” 

It was strange, perhaps, that Amy should choose 
Hannah as the one to whom she could tell all that 
she had scarcely whispered to herself. It was a 
kindly feeling that led her to do so, but she did 
not know herself how great was its influence. She 
did not know how much strength it gives to forlorn 


CHANGE AND NO CHANGE. 


101 


and lonely hearts to be called upon to give strength 
to others, to feel that their sympathy is esteemed 
precious, or worthy to be asked for by one other. 
Many persons would have been satisfied with giv- 
ing Hannah her wages and her daily food, with 
seeing that she was clothed well, and did not work 
too hard. Amy instinctively saw that she needed, 
besides, the fresh sympathy of some one near her 
own age, that she felt herself alone without the 
support of any special class of friends even, and 
Amy was not afraid to give her the sympathy and 
confidence of her own heart. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

George had made the voyage to Canton, had stayed 
there the appointed year ; then had made his way 
to.Calcutta ; then, quite to the surprise of his father 
and Amy, letters came from him from Egypt. From 
there he, had gone to Constantinople and Greece. 

11 You cannot think how fascinating this travelling 
is,” he wrote to Amy. u I begin at the East, where 
the world’s civilization began, and am coming on 
towards its highest point. When I was in Egypt, 
studying its hieroglyphics, I could imagine myself 
living in the time of the Pyramids. In Athens, I 
find myself far advanced, and am again in the days 
when the grace of form was worshipped. I can 
dream here for hours and days, in the land where 
once dreams were life. This is the world for an 
artist, Amy, and you cannot think how I shudder at 
the activity of our New World, that hurries the 
life of ages into single days. Americans ought to 
live in some of the -quicker worlds, in Mercury, for 
instance, where the works must be hurried up into 
such short days ; for me, my heaven will be in one 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 


103 


of the slower planets, where the days and the years 
are long enough to let me remember I am living. 
I like to watch the slow growth of the rosebud* 
and am willing to throw away the full-blown rose.” 
At last George reached Italy. 

His letters were filled with sketches of the 
groups by the wayside of the Italian women, the 
peasants, the shrines of the Madonna, with kneeling 
figures before them. And it was not merely de- 
scriptions of what he saw, of the sky and the moun- 
tain ridges, the flowers, broad plains, or the pictures, 
storied buildings, and old cities, which he sent to 
Amy. George poured out to her too, all his newly 
awakened ideas of art and its great power. He no 
longer contented himself with theories of his own, 
but told of old schools with new enthusiasm as he 
was in turn influenced by them. 

And these especially rejoiced Amy. Now she 
recognized the earnestness that used to inspire 
George in the old times, and that these last few 
years he had been forgetting. 

She hoped all this old fervor for Art was coming 
back. She was glad to have him in Italy, to have 
him awakened and roused by the great works round 
him. She believed it would stir his spirit, so that 
he would insist upon giving up all lower aims, and 
devote himself to Art alone. Then he would come 
home and " do something ” himself. She believed 
no other life could be happy for him. She believed 
no other life was right for him while he possessed 


104 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


such high inspirations, and might accomplish such 
great works. 

How gladly she would be his companion then I 
She could relieve him of all the little cares of life, 
and work for him in its trifling details, while he was 
working in its higher fields. At least she could 
admire with him what was high and noble, if she 
could not labor with him there. She could be his 
companion in his hours of rest, even if she could 
not be with him in his higher hours of study. She 
busied herself in thinking how she could make it 
easy for him to make great and noble efforts while 
she was struggling with the lesser duties of life. 

While she was inspired with these imaginings, 
all her own daily occupations became glorified. 
She went about them all with a new zeal and devo- 
tion. Before, she had always been cheerful and 
ready ; now, she hastened about her work as if it 
were a real privilege to be allowed to work. Per- 
haps this devotion seemed scarcely different to 
those around her from her usual manner, but with 
herself, her hopefulness gave a wonderful ease to 
all she did. The happy smile and the cheerful word 
for others came, not because she thought them 
their due, but out of her willing spirit that could 
not be otherwise than glad. The days were like 
clear summer days. Even the struggles and the 
labor that came with them were like the easy 
growth of plants beneath the warm sunshine and 
fed by the moist earth. 


r IS APPOINTMENT. 


105 


It was in the midst of* these happy dreamings, 
giving fresh activity to her daily life, that Mr. Ar- 
nold, George’s father, came to Langdale. He told 
Amy that he wanted to speak to her alone, and they 
walked out through the garden path quite into the 
woods where he talked to Amy about George. 
He said to her that George had been wasting the 
few last years of his life. He had no objection to 
George’s travelling for the purpose of travelling, 
though he should have hesitated to grant his 
request for a few years’ travel, if George had 
made such before he went away. But George’s 
connection with business had been for a long time 
merely nominal. He thought such a pretended oc- 
cupation was worse than doing nothing. George 
was no longer a boy, and it was time for him to 
have fitted himself for some business in life. He 
wrote George so, a year or two ago, when he was 
lounging away his time in the East Indies. He w r as 
not doing much better now, and two more years 
had passed away. Mr. Arnold said he knew how 
great was Amy’s influence with George. He was 
very proud of it, it was his greatest hope with re- 
gard to George, and he wanted to urge her to use 
it to compel him to give up the aimless life he was 
leading. It was time, long ago, for George to begin 
to think of his own prospects, it was certainly his 
duty now. He went on at some length to show in 
what a position George might have been if he had 
stayed at Canton and made a proper use of his ad- 


10G 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


vantages, and fortunately it was not too late now 
for him to go back to his friends there, who would 
gladly help him if he would show any interest in 
business, and devote himself to their affairs. 

Amy listened to Mr. Arnold in the same quiet 
wood where so many times she had heard George 
tell over his plans for life, and paint his glorious 
ambitions. As she stood there, she felt as young 
as she did then, though that time was so many 
years ago. She had the same warm hopes and 
buoyant energy, but she saw suddenly that the 
time for hoping and dreaming had passed away. 
There was no longer time to say, “We will do so 
in the future, or build gay castles to-morrow,” — 
the journey was no longer to be talked over and 
planned, but already it should be begun, for the 
day was far risen, and the traveller should be up 
and on his way. 

The old oak, whose leaves were gently swaying 
in the wind, had heard all the talk of youthful 
enthusiasm, and now was waiting to see the fruit 
of such great plans and purposes. Amy looked 
round wistfully, She wished that George himself 
might appear to vindicate himself, to show at once 
that these years of waiting had only been prepar- 
ing him for greater # duties than these that his 
father would lay out for him. Since she had not 
George’s voice to aid her, she took up his cause 
herself. She spoke of how much Italy was doing 
for George now; of his letters to her that had 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 


107 


shown he had been awakened and roused by the 
sight of works of genius. She told what she 
hoped for George ; how much such minds were 
needed in America; how much he might do for 
his native country. She spoke of his genius, and 
pleaded that such natures as his needed a longer 
time for ripening, and a different treatment from 
others. 

“ If he will only be an artist,” said Mr. Arnold, 
“ I shall be more than content. But do you not 
see by his letters that he is dreaming away his 
life, just as he did in America? I can’t make out 
that he has touched pencil or canvas since he left 
home.” 

“ But such letters as he writes ! ” pleaded Amy ; 
■ u they show how he observes everything.” 

“ Yes, I had some long letters from him about 
Egypt,” said Mr. Arnold, 11 and I carried them to 
Mr. Percy, a great student in such things, and 
talked to him about publishing them, but he says 
it has all been written before, and I know very 
well George wouldn’t have the industry to apply 
himself to give one lecture on the P}^ramids. All 
his observation is of no use to him. Don’t you 
see, he is merely amusing himself, while the rest 
of us are working ? ” 

Mr. Arnold wanted her to urge a new proposal 
of his to George, to go directly back to Canton. 
Amy promised to present to him his father’s 
wishes, and agreed that he ought to come to some 


108 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


decision; but she confessed that she should her- 
self wish to urge him to give up all idea of becom- 
ing a business man, and devote himself to the life 
of an artist with eagerness and industry. In the 
end, Mr. Arnold agreed to this. He wanted 
George to be something, anything but an idle 
wanderer, and with many affectionate words to 
Amy, he left Langdale. ,J 

Amy wrote an earnest letter to George. She 
detailed her conversation with his father, and prof, 
fered carefully his plans and desires, but she 
showed him earnestly what were the wishes of 
her own heart. “ But only show your father,” 
she said, “ that you have in you some of that 
impulse, some of the spark of the genius that }^ou 
and I have loved to fancy in you. The thought of 
it inspires me, and I am convinced it must lift and 
rouse you. These last few years you have been 
struggling under the lead of two masters. Only 
determine now to follow after the one you love. 

I know that if only once you give yourself up to 
such a master, you will find happiness and success. 
But you must enter into his service, be willing to 
be trained, and to submit your life -to your art. 
How foolish of me to be advising and counselling 
you ! I never ventured to preach to you before. 
You have always been higher up than I, and have 
given me strength. How I should like to give 
you back some of that strength ! Such a help as 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 


109 


it has been to me to have one great and noble aim. 
It has made a joyful service out of drudgery. 

“ The poor little Hannah who is with us, now 
goes about her work every day as if there were no 
object but just to get it over. She must sweep 
the steps, must clean the knives, etc., go from one 
labor on to another, because it is the every-day 
labor. Poor child ! she thinks of nothing but the 
work. But when I think of what I am living for, 
I find a special inspiration in each separate detail. 
It seems like arranging the flowers for a dear 
friend, and training the vines over the old arbor. 
Each trifling duty is helping to ornament the life 
of others, — even the caring for their daily food. 
I think each day, this is my art that I must bring 
to its perfection joyfully^ and cheerfully. It is 
very far down, very far below what must inspire 
you ; nevertheless, it must be my inspiration. 

“ Work on a little while, only work, dear George. 
Send home something to show you have been 
laboring. However small it is, your father will be 
proud of it, — we shall all be proud. We shall 
look forward to your coming home, when you will 
be able to teach us. You will raise us out of our 
little duties, by the great works which are yours. 
We are all of us workers here ; that won’t harm us 
if we can only have one of the “ High Art” work- 
ers among us too. 

u And such words remind me of the old days 
under the oak-tree — ” 


110 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


Amy’s letter had a great effect, very different 
from what she had imagined. She waited impa- 
tiently to hear from George, and a letter came. 
He was on his way back to Canton. 11 1 am going 
back,” he wrote, “ that I may do something.” “ You 
were right Am} T , in telling me to submit myself to 
a master. But you were wrong and I was wrong 
in fancying that I could follow the inspiration of a 
great master. Alas ! I have not the patience nor 
the industry that the disciples of such a master 
need. I have wasted a great many years, the fault 
is not in my circumstances but in myself. If the 
true genius had been in me, long ago I should have 
shown it by my patient study of the art I loved. 
Instead of sitting and dreaming of high ideas, I 
should have begun to carry them out, rudely per- 
haps, but somehow. I have been learning this 
sadly, the more sadly the more I have enjoyed the 
inspirations of true genius. These came only to 
men who were willing to labor, not to those who 
were idly drinking in the delights of life. Your 
labor, Amy, that you speak of so humbly, has been 
high and glorious in comparison with my idle 
dreamings. It is the thought of that labor of yours 
that rouses me now into activity. I am going to 
work, not in the way we thought of and dreamed. 
No, I cannot go home a great artist. How should 
I dare to hope for so great a glory as that, when I 
have not the self-denial, nor the patience, that could 
devote me to so glorious a work ? 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 


Ill 


u A pretty group there is below. Such a color 
as this sky has here, and so wonderful the atmos- 
pheric effect ! It colors up everything it touches ! 

“ But then I can go home and work. If I cannot 
show any great works, I will show how to work. 
We will both of us work with an object, to make 
labor, and trial, and struggle grand, and full of 
beauty too.” Then followed his plans for crossing 
the desert, and sketches of groups of camels being 
loaded, with an imaginary picture of an oasis, and 
himself drinking from a fountain under the trees, 
the fountain taking the form of the old pump in the 
Rothsays’ yard. 

This letter Amy had received some months ago. 
Since then she had seen Mr. Arnold again. He ex- 
pressed himself pleased that George had returned 
to a merchant’s life, and with his new determinations. 
He only hoped this would not prove a new freak 
of George’s, and that he would hold on it a year at 
least. He expected to hear of him in Australia, 
next, or San Francisco. He was much obliged to 
Amy for her influence, and hoped George would 
not tire her out at last. 

Amy thought it unkind that Mr. Arnold could 
not receive more thankfully the sacrifice that George 
had made. But she was not discouraged by his 
forebodings. She was sadly disheartened that 
George had been able to give up all his cherished 
hopes and aspirations. She feared he would repent 
sometime a determination he had made in a moment 


112 


STRUGGLE FOR LTFE. 


of despair. If she could only have seen him, only 
have known more certainly if this renunciation of 
his were a willing one. 

The letters that came to her afterward from 
George, helped her to this certainty. They were 
in a happy tone, and showed at the same time a 
strength of purpose that she had not missed before, 
but that gave her a new encouragement. His let- 
ters were shorter and more concise. They showed 
he was becoming a business man. She confessed 
to herself they were more manly in tone, while she 
detected in herself a half mournful feeling at the 
change. Lately he had spoken of coming home, 
and there had been some talk of his coming back 
in the spring. Ever since he had been gone, his 
letters to Amy and to Frank had given promises of 
his coming home u next spring ” or u next fall.” 
This was enough to satisfy the frequent inquiries 
of the neighbors at Langdale who wanted to know 
when George Arnold was to come back, and won- 
dered if he would marry Amy on his return, think- 
ing it a great pity that she should wait for him. 

His last letter had told Amy that he should cer- 
tainly return next spring, and to stay. It was 
nearly arranged that lie should be settled in New 
York with a branch of the firm there. There was 
more certainty about this letter than any she had 
received before, and she might allow herself to ex- 
pect him home again. How different a return his 
would be from what she had planned, and yet how 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 


113 


happy the thought of it made her ! It was a still 
happiness that she believed could not be moved, 
because she had so many years been training her- 
self to the thought that only that would be given 
her which was best for her and those she loved. 


8 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE RICH AND POOR. 

Amy sat upon the piazza with her work. Han- 
nah, too, was sitting on the steps of the piazza 
with a long seam before her, upon which she was 
sewing with the care and precision Miss Elspeth 
had taught her. 

“ I don’t know how I am to get along after I 
leave here, Miss Amy,” said Hannah ; 11 those boys 
at the Carltons are so rude. Yesterday, when I 
passed the garden, they were throwing stones at 
the passers-by.” 

“ I am afraid you will find it hard,” said Amy : 
11 It won’t be at all like Miss Elspeth’s well or- 
dered household, nor even like our busy one. 
Mrs. Carlton has no command over the children, 
and poor Bertha is so sick now that she cannot 
control them.” 

“ 1 don’t believe I’d better go, Miss Amy,” said 
Hannah; “I know those boys will make me angry.” 

“ It won’t be pleasant,” said Amy, “ but wher- 
ever you go, Hannah, you will not find every one 
so kind and considerate as Miss Elspeth.” 


THE RICH AND POOR. 


115 


" Nor any one that will talk so to me as you do, 
Miss Amy,” said Hannah ; “ I remember when I 
used to see Janet so much, I saw that they treated 
her at the Paxtons’ as if they thought she had not 
any feelings in her. I did not think much about 
it then, but since then the blood rises up in me to 
remember it. They would talk to her as if she 
were a stone, or no more than a brute.” 

u Oh, there are not many persons so unkind as 
that,” said Amy, “ but there a great many who are 
very thoughtless, and forget to speak gently and 
kindly.” 

“ They think us a different race,” Hannah broke 
out ; “ worse than that, they think us like the 
brute beasts, and would like to trample us down. 
But some day, oh, some day, I would like to get 
the better of them, and show them how I would 
look down on their pride.” 

“ Hannah, what do you mean ? ” exclaimed Amy, 
surprised ; “ who are the people you are talking 
of?” 

“ Oh, the people out in the world, who are 
oppressing the poor, and keeping them down,” 
said Hannah. 

“ Hannah, you don’t know any such people ; 
think of Miss Elspeth,” Amy said. 

“ I do think of her, and of you, and of Miss Dora 
too; she speaks hard, but she does not think 
hard. But the Paxtons, — what right have they 
to live in a great house, with sofas and couches, 


116 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


more than they have time to lie upon, day after 
day ; and poor ragged girls and children begging 
from step to step, that have not father or mother 
to take care of them ? ” 

11 It seems strange, — a great contrast,” said 
Amy ; “ but what right have we to sit here so 
comfortably, with this pleasant air about us, and 
these vines and trees shading us, — what right 
have you and I, Hannah, to sit here so quietly, 
when there are so many working hard, or, what is 
worse, wanting work and food, not far away from 
us ? It is a hard question to answer.” 

11 You and I ! ” said Hannah ; u what can we 
do?” 

“ And what can they do ? the Paxtons, as you 
call them,” asked Amy ; “ what would all the 
money they spend every year do for the deal of 
trouble just in Boston here ? Alas ! they do not 
know what to do to help all these poor people, 
more than you and I. I do not say they do their 
utmost, — people say the Paxtons are not kind and 
charitable to the poor. But we cannot judge. 
Do we do all that we can? At least, let us be 
charitable in our thoughts to them.” 

“ Let them have all their splendid furniture, and 
mirrors, and dresses,” said Hannah, “if they would 
only think of somebody else, if they would not 
believe themselves to be at the top of the world 
and we all below.” 

“ Every rich person is not of this sort, Hannah,” 


THE RICH AND POOR. 


117 


said Amy ; “ we read in some story-books of two 
classes, the tyrants and the oppressed. It is not 
so where we live. Here are a great many differ- 
ent people, and most have kind feelings, though all 
don’t show it.” 

“ I feel as if everybody hated me and mine,” 
said Hannah, “ except some few.” 

“ But that feeling you must give up as soon as 
possible, Hannah,” said Amy ; “ it is not true, it is 
only in your imagination. I don’t know what can 
have put it there. Even at the Carltons you won’t 
find that hatred nor that sort of treatment.” 

“Oh, Miss Amy, with all those boys!” exclaimed 
Hannah. 

“ Five boys in one house are never very quiet, 
nor all gentle and considerate in their manners,” 
answered Amy ; “ I know it will be hard to bear 
with them, but they will give you no worse treat- 
ment than they give to everybody.” 

“ I’m afraid I shan’t stand it,” said Hannah. 

“ It is very provoking, I know,” said Amy. 
“Last winter, when I slipped down on the ice 
in front of the Carltons’ gate, it was provoking 
enough to have Freddy Carlton standing there 
laughing at me. He did not help me, either. 

, My muff flew off one way, and my bundles another, 
and all the time he was making laughing speeches 
about me.” 

“ Oh, if I had been there, Miss Amy!” exclaimed 
Hannah. 


118 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“Well, tlier3 was nothing to be done about it,” 
said Amy, “ so I tried to remember that he wag 
the same boy that saved the child from drowning a 
little while before. They said, you know, that he 
stood on the ice holding up the child a long time, 
till help could come to him.” 

“ I haven’t forgot it, Miss Amy j and it was an 
Irish boy too.” 

“Agnes Carlton has come home from school 
now,” continued Amy, “ and she ought to be able 
to do something for her brothers ; but she is not 
like Bertha. I am afraid she is thoughtless, and 
she has been away from home so much she has lost 
all home feeling.” 

“ Miss Bertha looks to me like a picture,” said 
Hannah, “ like the picture of a beautiful angel.” 

“ Bertha has had a hard life the last few years,” 
said Amy ; “ she has been weak and sick, but lias 
never been willing to tell any one of it. Her 
mother thinks of nothing but sewing all day long, 
and occupies herself so, she never has seen how 
much care Bertha has needed, till all at once 
Bertha has broken down, and everybody sees now 
how ill she is.” 

“ She looks as if she came directly from the sky, 
only to go back there,” said Hannah. 

“ 0 Hannah, it would be very hard for me to 
part with Bertha,” exclaimed Amy ; “ I cannot 
think of it yet. Bertha was older than I at school. 
She used to help me every way. She never said 


THE RICH AND POOR. 


119 


nrncli, but helped me by being so good herself. I 
like to think of your going there, Hannah, you 
will bo able to do so much for Bertha.” 

“ I can go up stairs and down ; I can fetch and 
carry for her,” said Hannah, gloomily. 

“ You will do more than that, Hannah,” said 
Amy ; “ it is very hard for any one like Bertha to 
call for help from others. She has always thought 
so little of herself that it pains her now to ask 
help of any one else^ If you give her a willing, 
ready service, you will do her a deal of good.” 

11 And Mrs. Carlton, she’ll be wanting me for 
other things.” 

“ And the boys will order you round for this and 
that,” said Amy, “ and Mrs. Carlton will want to 
keep you at your sewing. You must be ready for 
them all , — 1 Up stairs, and down stairs, and in my 
lady’s chamber,’ — but if you have a heart for it, 
you will find time to be caring for the fire in 
Bertha’s room, and making sure that all is cheerful 
there. You will ask her often through the day 
what you can bring her, and find out in time how 
to bring her what she wants without her asking. 
Even if you are kept constantly at work, sewing or 
sweeping, you will find some time to help her.” 

“ It is hard work you are laying out for me, Miss 
Amy,” said Hannah. 

“ I know it, but you have been working every 
moment of the day at Miss Dora’s,” answered 
Amy ; “ you can’t work more than that at the 


120 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


Carltons, and the work will be all the easier if you 
are only willing and ready.’'* 

“ 1 know that is the way you work, Miss Amy,” 
said Hannah ; “ you go into Mrs. Campbell’s room 
to put it all to rights, and before you are half 
'through, they call you into your mother’s room, 
and when you are busy there, somebody wants 
you in the kitchen; and then the children are 
ready for their lessons, or Master Sammy has tum- 
bled down stairs, and you must comfort him. 
Everything is done, and you have time for all, and 
always are smiling and making fun of it all as if it 
were a frolic.” 

u Ah, well, is not it easier so?” asked Amy. 

“ It is very easy for you,” sighed Hannah, “ but 
not for me.” 

“ And why not ? ” said Amy. 

“ Because they all love you, and you love them. 
You are precious to them. Who will care for me 
at the Carltons’ ? ” said Hannah. 

“Who has cared for you all along?” asked Amy; 
“ and listen, who are they that are shouting for 
you now? Bessie, and Martha, and Margie; I 
think they are coming for you to go to walk, and 
it will he good for you to air some of your gloomy 
thoughts. Now they are stopping a minute ; Miss 
Bora has called them back for something. Per- 
haps Bessie has forgotten to lock the back door, or 
Miss Elspeth has summoned her for some errand. 
Why, Hannah ! have you forgotten us all here ? 
You are precious to all of us?” 


THE RICH AND POOR. 


121 


u But there ? ” persisted Hannah. 

“ We shall see you often,” said Amy; “and Han- 
nah, if you are in any trouble, you must speak to 
Bertha. She will feel for you kindly, I know. 
And think, Hannah, perhaps some day it will be 
such a comfort to look back upon what you have 
done for Bertha.” 

There was a great uproar of voices, for Bessie, 
and Martha, and Margie were coming, and Bessie 
insisted on climbing the fence that separated the 
two houses, and then she came running up the 
grassy bank, her bonnet falling back from her 
head, while she shouted with delight. 

“ Oh ! come into the woods, everybody ! Miss 
Elspeth says we may go if Hannah will, and you’ll 
come too, Amy.” 

“ Hannah will go, but I must stay for the chil- 
dren.” 


CHAPTER XY. 


AN OLD FRIEND. 

The little party made its way into the woods, 
telling over to Hannah the events of the day; how 
Margie had made her first pudding, how Miss Els- 
peth was really to have the sewing circle, and how 
they all meant to find something in the woods to 
ornament the parlor with, when that great day 
should come. Miss Dora had objected; but then 
she objected to everything; and Martha had prom- 
ised, if they could have flowers in the room, she 
would pick up every single green thing that fell 
upon the carpet. Martha was the thoughtful one 
of the household now. She was fond of study, 
and hoped she might be a teacher sometime, if she 
could only learn enough. Meanwhile, she made 
the best of every moment’s time, and had her vol- 
ume of botany under her arm now. 

“ I think it’s a shame,” said Bessie, “ to carry 
books into the woods. We have enough of them 
in the house, and I am sure there is plenty to look 
at when we are out among the trees.” 

“ But I am determined,” said Martha, “ to find 


AN OLD FRIEND. 


123 


out the name of that new flower we saw the other 
day. It was so withered I could not make it out 
from that specimen at all.” 

“ I think 'lily' was a very good name for it,” 
said Bessie. "I don’t believe I can pronounce its 
long Latin name, when you find it.” 

“ There are a great many kinds of lilies,” said 
Martha, " and if I can find the flower’s real name, I 
can read about it in the book, and I dare say you 
will be glad to hear about it.” 

“ That it flowers the end of August,” said Bessie, 
"and we know that already; and that it is found on 
the edge of swamps, and that Miss Dora knows, 
because I brought some of the mud into the 
kitchen the day we found it.” 

" There’s one now, I declare,” exclaimed Martha, 
as she ran away from the path, and out through the 
broad hemlocks. 

Very soon the whole party were busy. Martha 
was comparing the flowers she found with the 
descriptions in her book. Margie had discovered 
a real fairy’s haunt. She was sure it must be. 
There was the ring in the grass where they had 
danced the night before, and a purple mushroom 
in the middle, that must have been the queen’s: 
throne. She set herself to look for some remnant 
of the feast, for Oberon’s mushroom, for she was 
sure he must have been there too. Bessie was 
quiet for some minutes. She was watching a squir- 
rel. If she could only be still enough not to frighten 


124 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


him, she could find out where his hole was, and see 
if he had any of last winter's nuts there. 

Hannah was the only one not busy. She waited 
a little while for the others, then walked down the 
path that led to the station. A train of cars from 
Boston had just left the station, to go on farther. 
Hannah fancied she recognized a girl, about her 
own size, who was lingering on the platform. The 
girl had seen her, and presently beckoned to her, 
and came hastening to where Hannah stood. 

“ Janet, is that you?” exclaimed Hannah. 

“Yes, it's me,” said Janet, hurrying up the bank, 
“and you're the person I've come to see. I wanted 
to see you in a hurry, too, for I'm going right into 
town again in the next cars.” 

“Where have you been all this long time, and 
what are you doing?” asked Hannah. 

“Well, don't you think I'm getting on in the 
world? What do you think of my bonnet? What 
would Mrs. Paxton say to it?” exclaimed Janet. 
“Well, I'm not the same Janet that she used to or- 
der round.” 

“ Where have you been since you went away so 
suddenly from Mrs. Paxton's?” asked Hannah. 

“Well, I left the Paxtons without asking them,” 
said Janet. 

“Miss Nora is married,” said Hannah. 

“Dear me; who has she married?” said Janet. 

“ Nobody that you know about,” said Hannah. 


AN OLD FRIEND. 


125 


“ Well, never mind, I want to talk to you. I’ve 
a proposal to make to you. Is not that grand ? ” 

u But I can’t stop, Janet ; there are the children,” 
said Hannah. 

“ Oh, never mind the children,” said Janet, " they 
won’t spoil ; I can hear their voices close by. Bes- 
sie’s as tall as you now. She can take care of her- 
self.” 

“ You can come into the woods with me,” said 
Hannah. 

“ No, I can’t,” answered Janet ; u sit down here 
on this stone with me. You were asking me where 
I had been. Well, I’ve been up and down ; you 
would think I had been more down than up. I be- 
lieve you think more of having a regular place to 
sleep in and food and all, than you do of having 
your own way.” 

u I mean to have my own way too, some time,” 
said Hannah. 

“ Well, that’s like you, that’s spirit,” said Janet, 
u so I thought. Now, I’ve been living in Board 
Court some of the time. It is not much of a place. 
But you see more of the world there than you do 
in Langdale in any time.” 

u I don’t want to live in Board Court,” said Han- 
nah. 

u You’d live there if Stephen were there,” 
said Janet. 

11 Have you heard anything of Stephen ? Have 
you seen him? Oh, tell me quick,” exclaimed 
Hannah. 


12G 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ I haven’t seen him, only the boys say he will 
certainly come back to Board Court some time. 
They expect him to turn up there any day.” 

“I don’t believe you know anything about him,” 
said Hannah, getting up to hurry away. 

“ Don’t go away, that is not what I want to talk 
about. But I’ve been very busy lately helping 
some ladies at the theatre. And such times as I 
have had ! I can go and see the play almost every 
night. They want somebody to sew for them. 
And that is what I want you for. You were 
always so good at sewing, and I can get you just 
as much work as you want, and good pay for it too. 
Besides that, we can go to the theatre when we 
please.” 

u To the theatre ! ” exclaimed Hannah. 
u Yes, we’ll have a little establishment of our 
own in Board Court. And sometimes we can have 
a look upon the stage, that is, behind the scenes. 
But the best is, up stairs at the theatre. There 
you can look down upon all the show, upon all the 
fine people, and there’s that nice warm gas smell, 
and it’s so comfortable and all.” 

u I went once to the theatre long ago with Stee- 
vie,” said Hannah. u I have forgotten a great deal. 
But there came in a great ship. It was on the 
stage, but it came floating in just as if it were on 
the water, only it was more golden and splendid 
than any ship is. There was a sister and a brother 
floating together in it. Oh, how they must live, the 


AN OLD FEIEND. 


127 


people that act there ! It all looks so fine, even if 
they do have to work hard ! I wouldn’t mind the 
work, Janet.” 

“ Oh, you wouldn’t have to work hard,” said 
Janet, “ just sewing, that you can do so easy, and 
then so much fun all the time ! ” 

“ I didn’t mean the sewing,” said Hannah. “ I 
mean the actors can’t have to work hard, not harder 
than we do now.” 

“ Oh, you are thinking of acting,” answered 
J anet ; “ perhaps it might come to that in time, — 
who knows ? Any how, it’s a more jolly life than 
you are leading now.” 

“ But I can’t leave Miss Amy,” said Hannah ab- 
ruptly, after a moment’s thought. 

“ What have you to do with Miss Amy ? ” asked 
Janet. 

“ I have left Miss Elspeth’s. I’m living at the 
Rothsays’ now ” answered Hannah. 

“ Is that it? ” exclaimed Janet ; “then it’s easier 
for you to go away than ever ! Then you’ve left 
Bessie in good quarters. Don’t stop to think ! 
The down train will be along in fifteen minutes. 
That will give you just time to go round through 
the road and make up a bundle of your things and 
come directly on with me.” 

“ Oh, I can’t go, I can’t go with you ! ” said Han- 
nah, yet with regret in her tone. “ Never mind the 
bundle,” said Janet, “just sit and talk with me the 
fifteen minutes. I’ll tell you more what we will do. 


128 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


Yon don’t want to be tied down all your life to two 
old women. Just come into town with me to-night.” 

“ No, I can’t to-night,” said Hannah. “ 1 can’t 
go now. Perhaps this fall, when I am at Carlton’s, 
if I find I can’t bear it there, I’ll come in to you 
then.” L 

“ But it will be too late then,” urged Janet, 
“ your place will be filled up. They will have got 
somebody else in town, and what is it to do? 
Miss Elspeth would not object to your going out 
sewing ? ” 

u I am really a help to Miss Amy now, and I can’t 
leave her,” said Hannah. u In the fall, I am to go 
to the Carltons to live. It will be different there, I 
know. That will be in a month or two.” 

“ At the Carltons’ I Are you going to live there ? 
Why, Mrs. Carlton will keep you sewing from 
morning till night, and expect you to take care of 
the children too. I would advise you never to get 
into that house unless you want to be a slave all 
your life. In a month or two it will be too late.” 

“ I love Miss Amy,” said Hannah, “ I don’t love 
many people.” 

11 Well, just come in with me to-night and see how 
it is,” said Janet, “ you can come out again in a day 
or two, and tell Miss Amy all about your new plans. 
It would be different if you were going to live 
with her always ; but as you are to leave her so 
soon, it can’t trouble her to have you go now.” 


AN OLD FRIEND. 


129 


u I can’t go in to-night ! I can’t go to-night ! ” re- 
peated Hannah. 

u Then I’ve had all my pains for nothing ” ex- 
claimed Janet ; “I expected you to be grateful at 
least.” 

“ Yet you’ve never helped me much,” said 
Hannah, u it wasn’t the truth you told me of Stee- 
vie and the circus.” 

11 1 told you all I knew, and you wouldn’t believe 
me,” said Janet; u I might have told you more. 
But you don’t deserve I should let you know any- 
thing. But only come with me to-night.” 

11 1 can’t go to-night,” said Hannah resolutely, 
“ next winter I will think about it.” At this mo- 
ment Martha was heard crying for Hannah, and pres- 
ently Bessie’s voice calling for help. Hannah hur- 
ried away up the wood-path. 11 I’ll wait for you,” 
said Janet. She sat down on the stone and listened 
to the different voices, but Hannah did not come 
back again. Janet lingered about the woods, till 
the train for town came along, and went away in it. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


MR. JASPER. 

Hannah met Martha running towards her. “Oh! 
Margie is up in the tree, and we can’t get her 
down. She’ll fall and break her neck ! What can 
we do ? ” 

Hannah hurried on, and found Bessie under an 
oak-tree, looking up to Margie, who was clinging 
to one of the outer branches. Bessie was half 
laughing and half frightened. “ She’s so foolish,” 
she said to Hannah, explainingly; “it’s easy enough 
to come down, but she is so frightened she won’t 
try.” 

“ How did she get up there ? ” asked Hannah, as 
she came under the tree, and tried to reach Margie. 

“ Oh, Bessie persuaded me to come up here, and 
helped me along, and now I am out on this branch, 
and I know it won’t bear me, and I can’t possibly 
get down, and I know my arms will break.” 

Hannah was not tall enough to reach where 
Margie was, and Margie would not let Bessie 
climb the tree to her, because she was sure she 
would break the branch if she came up into the 


MR. JASPER. 


131 


tree. So the poor child swayed backward and 
forward on the light bough, clinging to it with 
trembling hands. 

“ Let yourself down, we will catch you,” said 
Hannah ; “ you are not very far from the ground.” 

“ Oh, no ! I’m afraid,” cried Margie. 

“ Run to the house for some one,” said Hannah 
to Bessie. 

“ My arms will break off, I know,” said Margie, 
“ before you come back.” 

“ There’s a noise,- — there’s somebody coming,” 
exclaimed Martha; “stop, Bessie, you needn’t go. 
It’s a man, — a gentleman.” 

Martha ran to him for help. He came just in 
time, for Margie, in trying to reach a higher bough, 
had strained her wrist. He lifted her down with- 
out trouble. 

“ How did you get there ? ” he asked ; “ why 
didn’t you climb down as you came up?” 

“ I know it,” said Bessie ; “ it’s easy enough. I 
have been up and down in the tree half a dozen 
times since Margie has been on that branch.” 

“ Bessie said it was so easy,” said Margie, “ and 
that it was just like a swing up there; and I didn’t 
mind climbing up into the tree, but I didn’t know 
how I ever should get down.” 

“ Margie began to tell us a story,” said Bessie ; 
“ Martha sat under the tree, and I believe Margie 
was frightened by her own story, for she was just 
telling something, oh, really dreadful — ” 


132 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ And I beard a noise, — it was only a little 
noise,” said Margie, “ but it frightened me more 
than a great one. I was very foolish ; I thought 
of bears, and I crept out to the end of the branch, 
and then it began to rock up and down, and I 
thought I should fall, and I felt as if my arms 
would break.” 

“And where were you?” asked their new friend, 
of Hannah. 

“ I was away on the edge of the wood,” Hannah 
answered, “ but I ought to have been here. I 
would not have let Margie climb the tree if I had 
been here. She is frightened so easily, she can’t 
climb like Bessie.” 

“ I’m so glad you came through the wood,” said 
Martha to the stranger; “very few people know 
the way through the wood.” 

“ I know the way,” he said, “ though it is over 
five years since I have been here. I only came to 
Langdale this morning, and I came across through 
the woods on my way to Mr. Rothsay’s.” 

“We’re going through the Rothsays’ garden,” 
said Bessie, “ so we can go together.” 

“I had better take this little Margie in my 
arms,” said he, “ she is trembling still.” 

“ It’s my hand pains me,” said Margie, “ I can’t 
tie my bonnet.” 

“ I am afraid your wrist is sprained,” said their 
friend. 

“ 0 dear, we shall have to send for the Doctor,” 


MR. JASPER. 


133 


said Bessie ; “ I wish it had been my wrist. But 
there’s one comfort for you, Margie, you wont have 
to beat eggs with it.” 

The party went through the Bothsays’ garden, 
and Amy came out to meet them. 

“What is the matter? Why, Mr. Jasper, is this 
you with our little Margie? How came you here? 
Is Margie hurt ? ” 

“ She’s more frightened, than hurt,” answered 
Mr. Jasper. “I came by the morning train from 
Boston, and I met this little party on my way 
through the woods. They will tell you what was 
the matter.” 

“ It would have been so bad if he had not come 
through the woods. I don’t know what would have 
happened to Margie,” said Martha. 

Bessie, at the same time, began to tell how it 
was her fault persuading Margie to get into the 
tree. They made a long story of it. Hannah was 
silent. At the end, Amy turned round to her 
inquiringly. 

“ It was my fault,” said Hannah ; then in a low 
tone, “I shouldn’t have stayed as I did by the 
cars. I let the children go back into the woods 
alone. I ought to have gone with them.” 

“ But we are not children now,” said Bessie, 
impatiently. 

“Miss Elspeth sent Hannah to take care of you,” 
said Amy. “ Hannah and I will go in with you to 
see Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora, if Mr. Jasper will 
bring Margie to the gate.” 


134 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“I hope all Langdale is as little changed as 
you,” said Mr. Jasper, looking at Amy. “ When I 
found all this little party in the woods, I thought I 
had come into a new neighborhood, but I begin to 
feel at home again now.” 

“ These are our new neighbors,” said Amy; “the 
Miss Eltons came just as you went away.” 

“I have heard a little about them from the 
Fays this morning,” ^aid Mr. Jasper ; “ I went 
directly there, and they have refreshed me a little 
in Langdale news ; it was a long time since I had 
heard from here.” 

“ And you are really going to stay with us a 
little while ? ” said Amy. 

“ Yes, Mr. Peterson wrote me so earnestly to 
take his place here this winter, while he went 
away ; and he sent, too, such earnest entreaties 
from the parish, that I could not resist coming.” 

“ And can you bear a winter here now ? ” asked 
Amy. 

“ Oh, yes ; don’t I look as if I could bear any- 
thing?” said Mr. Jasper. 

“ A different person from what you were when 
you went away,” said Amy ; “ you don’t look like 
an invalid now.” 

They reached Miss Elspeth’s house. 

“This is Miss Elton’s house, then,” continued 
Mr. Jasper, “is it? — the little brown cottage. 
How the garden is grown ! Miss Margie, I wrll 
set you down here. If Miss Elton will let me J 
will come in and doctor your wrist.” 


MR. JASPER. 


135 


Bessie had run on before to tell Miss Elspeth 
what had happened, blaming herself for Margie’s 
trouble. 

“ I will wait at the gate,” said Mr. Jasper to 
Amy, “ while you go in and see if I can give any 
surgical aid, then I will walk back with you to 
your house.” 

But no ; Amy came out and said Miss Elspeth 
was equal to the care of Margie, and there was 
not much hurt done apparently. 

“ How pleasant it is to look up and down the 
street again,” said Mr. Jasper; “what a pretty 
place it is. How the trees and vines grow and 
flourish here ! Mrs. Bunce’s little old house be- 
comes picturesque as the green gathers round it.” 

“ And Mrs. Bunce herself,” said Amy ; “ see, she 
is looking after you over the fence, trying to make 
you out.” 

“ I must go and speak to her presently,” said 
Mr. Jasper ; “ that will announce my arrival in 
Langdale. Mrs. Bunce was always the Court Jour- 
nal of Langdale. Children on your piazza ! Ah, 
those are your little cousins of whom I have heard. 
Well, Amy, you have plenty to do.” 

As they walked up the path towards the house, 
Amy heard herself called back into the street. 
“ Oh Amy, just come here a minute, I want to ask 
you something.” 

“ Agnes, is it you ? Won’t you come in? What 
do you want ? ” asked Amy. 


136 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


<4 Oh, haven’t you any old novels you can lend us 
to read ! I’m tired to death of the Club books, they 
are all so stupid. Has not Frank something inter- 
esting to read ? ” 

“ I dare say, will you come in and see ? ” answered 
Amy. 

is Oh, no matter now. That is not really what I 
wanted. I brought you out here to ask you if that 
isn’t Mr. Jasper you were walking up with ? I 
saw you in the distance, and I thought it looked 
like him. But it is so long since I have seen him. 
I suppose he has come to stay ? Well, I’m rejoiced. 
I’m tired to death of Mr. Peterson. He preaches 
over the same things. I could say off his sermons 
before I went to church. He’s got me into such a 
habit of going to sleep, that I’m afraid Mr. Jasper 
won’t wake me up. No, I won’t come in; it’s such 
a comfort to have a piece of news to tell people, 
that I won’t stay. The Lees will be out on their 
doorsteps. What a novelty it is to have somebody 
coming back ! Everybody has been going away 
so ! Tom Paxton, you know, is really coming home. 
They expect him every day. I do hope he’ll stir 
them up a little at the Paxtons. But I won’t keep 
you any longer. It must be a treat for you to have 
somebody to talk with.” 

“ Who is your pretty friend ? ” asked Mr. Jasper 
of Amy. 

“ That is Agnes Carlton. Did not you remember 
her ? ” asked Amy. 


MR. JASPER. 


137 


“ Is that Agnes ? Why she was one of the little 
girls when I went away. One of your witches, 
that Mrs. Carlton was always scolding, because she 
wouldn’t sit still, and never came into the house 
except to show that her dress was torn off her shoul- 
ders, or her braids tumbling down her back.” 

“ Agnes has come home from school a finished 
young lady now,” said Amy, “ she’s the model of 
dress for all Langdale.” 

“ She is pretty,” said Mr. J asper ; “ I watched 
her as she talked with you, her ribbons ftying, her 
tongue going, and her eyes dancing. Then she 
has a fresh healthy color in her cheek.” 

“ You should have heard what she said,” said 
Amy, “ for she only stopped to ask about you.” 

“ How different from Bertha ! ” said Mr. Jasper, 
thoughtfully ; “ a younger sister of Bertha ! ” 
u She is a picture of health by the side of Ber- 
tha ! ” said Amy ; “ and poor Bertha, so languid 
now, so feeble. And she is different every way 
from Bertha ! Bertha has all the soul and heart. 
Agnes is full of life and animation. I can’t make 
myself interested in her, though I try to, for Ber- 
tha’s sake, and though she excites so much admira- 
tion. Oh, she is a great contrast to Bertha ! She 
is cold and shining, and Bertha is full of feeling.” 

u Bertha went to heaven a long time ago,” said 
Mr. Jasper, “ her spirit went. She has not lived 
on the earth, as one of us, this great while.” 

“ But her body is as beautiful as a spirit, as frail 


138 


STRUGGLE FOR. LIFE. 


and transparent,” said Amy ; “ that has been moving 
round with us still. Though lately, Bertha has 
been more shut up at home. I dread this winter 
for her.” 

“ Why don’t they carry her away to the 
South? ” asked Mr. Jasper. “ It is no place for her 
to spend the winter here.” 

“ Mrs. Carlton is wilfully blind,” said Amy ; 11 she 
does not see how sick Bertha is. But indeed, Ber- 
tha would not like to go away from home. And I 
am afraid she could not be comfortable ©r happy 
anywhere else.” 

“ Can she be happy or comfortable anywhere in 
this world? ” asked Mr. Jasper; 11 her nature is so 
delicate it can’t bear up against what this world 
brings. How terrible must be to her all the house- 
hold discomforts, and the little home embitterments 
she is surrounded by.” 

u Bertha never shrank from life,” said Amy ; “ she 
had too much faith for that.” 

“ Yes, it takes more faith to live by, than to die 
by,” said Mr. Jasper. 


CHAPTER XV'II. 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 

Miss Elspeth’s little rooms were crowded by the 
sewing circle, and Miss Dora’s household arrange- 
ments had been previously so perfected that she was 
actually able to sit down to entertain her guests 
when they assembled. Hannah and Bessie had 
been busy in the kitchen with her all the morning. 
Martha had picked the prettiest flowers from 
the garden and the woods, and had arranged them 
gracefully around the rooms. There were dishes 
of bright scarlet flowers, and tall vases of wild 
flowers, and Margie’s pet basket, out of which hung 
graceful vines. Miss Dora made some objections 
to covering the tables with flowers. She did not 
see where the work was to be put, or the candles, 
when it came time to light up. But Miss Elspeth 
showed her they had left room for the candles, and 
Martha had arranged the work on a table in the 
corner. 

So there was great talking, and, of course, a 
great deal of work done too. For the two rooms 
were full, and the younger girls sat on the stairs in 


140 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


the entry. Mrs. Paxton was there. She could not 
sew because she couldn’t use her eyes, and 
she never talked much, but then it was respectable 
to have her sitting there in her well-fitting gloves. 
Mrs. Bunce was in fine spirits. Pier fingers went 
fast, her eyes took in all that was going on, nor did 
her conversation flag. “ So, Miss Dora, Martha is 
to be a teacher,” she broke in. 

“ So it seems,” said Miss Dora ; “ she has been 
studying hard enough. She has her French les- 
sons with Amy, and has been to school summer and 
winter. When she’s old enough she will go to the 
Normal School, I suppose. I don’t see the use of 
so much learning and studying, myself.” 

“Well, if she can teach, she can earn her living 
that way,” suggested Mrs. Bunce ; “ that’s a good 
thing.” 

“ But what is it all to come to ? ” said Miss Dora. 
“ Here’s Martha learning just to teach a new set 
of children. Now, what good is it going to do all 
these others ? Are they going to learn merely so 
they can teach ? What are they going to do with 
it all, I should like to know ? It would save time 
if none of them learnt.” 

“ Ah, but Miss Dora, what will you do with the 
time when you have saved it ? ” asked Amy. 

“ That’s verytrue,” said Mrs. Paxton ; “ occupa- 
tion is the great thing for young people.” 

“ There’s plenty to do without reading books all 
the time,” said Miss Dora, “ and there would be 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


141 


another saving of time. If nobody read their 
books it would save the time of the people that 
have to write them. It must take considerable to 
be scribbling it all ; I’ve never wasted my time 
over it.” 

“ Oh, Miss Dora, but don’t you read the Harper, 
and Thackeray ? ” asked Annie Fay. 

“And if you would only write a book, Miss 
Dora,” said Amy; “only think how much good 
you’d do.” 

“ The only book I should write,” said Miss Dora, 
“ would be a cook-book ; and I should say in the 
beginning that it wouldn’t do any good, and if they 
wanted to cook they must cook, and not read books.” 

“ But, Miss Dora, then your book wouldn’t help 
us,” said Annie Fay. 

“ There’s Margie,” continued Miss Dora, u when 
she begins upon a story there’s no chance to get her 
away from it. She has the book stuck up on the 
mantelpiece when she’s dusting, and open on the 
table when she’s sewing. There would be no meals 
in the family if we waited for her. You can’t eat 
and drink the best books in the world.” 

11 1 must say,” said Mrs. Bunce, “ I don’t often 
see Margie but what she has a book in her hand.” 

“ But you haven’t told us what we are to do if 
we don’t read,” said one of the Lees. 

“ I suppose you’d like to have us sew,” said An- 
nie Fay. 

u The girls now-a-days,” said Mrs. Carlton, “ don’t 


142 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


know anything about sewing. I can’t think what 
we shall come to. I cannot get along with my 
work unless I keep at my sewing steadily from 
morning till night. I always meant to teach my 
girls how to sew if they did not know anything else. 
But, dear me, I believe Agnes knows everything 
else, and I can’t induce her to sew long enough to 
pay for hunting up her thimble.” 

11 1 never thought much of sewing steadily all 
day,” said Miss Dora ; “ and Elspeth says there’s 
poor folks enough who need the sewing work, 
to say nothing of machines, though I wouldn’t 
have one in the house. But there’s one thing 
that does come regularly, and that is three meals 
a day ; and I think a girl ought to know how to get 
the meals, if she don’t cook them herself.” 

“ You are right there,” said Mrs. Paxton, who 
had never troubled herself with more than order- 
ing her meals. 

And Miss Dora bustled away to arrange her gen- 
erous tea-table. 

Mr. Jasper came in the evening, and the greet- 
ings were especially cordial ; every one was glad 
to see him back again, and everybody was fresh 
with delight at his last Sunday’s sermons. 

Mr. Jasper was talking with Amy in the entry. 
“ That little Margie’s hair will take fire,” he 
exclaimed ; “ what is she doing with the candle in 
her hand ? ” 

Amy went to the stairs, where Margie was show- 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


143 


ing a friend some pictures, and advised her putting 
down her candlestick. 

“ The little Margie interests me,” said Mr. Jas- 
per ; “ she is full of imagination. Only don’t let 
her grow up into one of those girls that let their 
minds go to walk through some side door when 
they think they are with you all the time.” 
u What do you mean ? ” asked Amy. 

11 Don’t you know how tiresome it is when you’ve 
been talking earnestly to any one, suddenly to find 
your listener, instead of being a listener, has been 
taking a little excursion of his own, wandering off 
into some delightful region, very likely, but he 
alone has the gate to it and the key? ” 

u Absent-minded people are very trying,” said 
Amy. “ I have a wicked desire, all the time, to 
stick pins into their minds and rouse them out of 
their dreams.” 

11 Present-minded people are as unsatisfactory,” 
said Mr. Jasper ; “ they are so taken up with what is 
going on, they think only of what they are saying 
now, and forget if they have any pastor future. Most- 
party talk goes no further than the candles, and 
dresses, and show of the evening. Lbok at our 
lively friend, Agnes Carlton. She leans against 
the door-post, complacently happy. Tom Paxton 
is on one side and Frank at the other. She is not 
even thinking of what she is saying now. She is 
thinking of the opinion that she sees you and I are 
passing upon her.” 


144 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


11 1 am afraid you are right,” said Amy. 

11 Yet she can talk well,” said Mr. Jasper. 

11 But she talks without heart. What she says 
is from her lips ; it comes from no deeper. And 
is there anything deeper there ? ” said Amy. 

11 Are you not severe? ” asked Mr. Jasper. 

11 And you ? ” said Amy. 

“ Do you think me severe?” asked Mr. Jasper. 

u You have appeared to me more so than before 
you went away,” said Amy. 

“ Have I ? And is not that right? ” asked Mr. 
Jasper. 11 1 have lived five years and more since 
then. Should not that embitter me ? ” 

11 It is not like you to say so,” said Amy. 

“ What should I say ? ” asked Mr. Jasper. 

11 Your old self used to say that true living could 
only refresh us. It must be those who let their 
better life die out who talk of the harshness of 
life,” said Amy. 

II It is my death then that I complain of when 
I complain of the bitterness of my life,” said 
Mr. Jasper. “ And all my disappointments, yes, 
they are the death of my better, my happier hopes. 
I may complain still then, only give my complaint 
a different name.” 

“ Is that what discipline is to teach us ? ” asked 
Amy. “ You used to teach us differently.” 

II I can teach others better than I can myself, 
Amy,” said Mr. Jasper ; “ and perhaps my own 
salvation lies that way. If I cannot heal myself, I 
may heal others.” 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


145 


“ There’s room for it here,” said Amy. “ We all 
need freshening and renewing.” 

“ And there is room for it, you think, opposite^ 
with Agnes Carlton?” asked Mr. Jasper. “You 
think she needs improving?” 

“Yes; but how I scarcely know,” said Amy. 
“ I can hardly tell how to reach her. I am afraid 
she is weak ; she seems very thoughtless. I would 
like to love her more because she is Bertha’s sister, 
but I grow discouraged. And then I try to com- 
fort myself with thinking perhaps she is not in my 
parish.” 

“ Your parish is a large one, as it is,” said Mr. 
Jasper, laughing. “ All these four girls belong to 
it, I suppose.” 

“ Oh, they take care of themselves very much,” 
said Amy ; “ but I am deeply interested in them. 
Hannah troubles me most. The others were 
younger when they came here, and have made 
themselves at home here. Hannah cannot help 
feeling she is oppressed still. I am troubled about 
her.” 

“ The others seem very happy,” said Mr. Jasper. 

“Yes; Margie, you see, has her little friend 
there, and Bessie has taken hers away to help her 
in the kitchen, and the sober, thoughtful Martha 
has her friends everywhere.” 

“ But Hannah does not find her place ? ” asked 
Mr. Jasper. 


10 


146 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ She is uneasy; still, she is not liapp} 7 ,” said 
Amy. . 

u But to return to our old subject. Bo you think 
Agnes Carlton is in my parish ? ” asked Mr. 
Jasper. 

“ Most certainly she is under your influence,” 
said Amy ; “ but then I have not recommended 
her to you. Indeed, I have talked more about her 
than I like.” 

11 But Bertha’s sister ought not to be weak-minded 
and trivial. For Bertha’s sake we might do some- 
thing for her,” said Mr. Jasper ; “ only, is not Ber- 
tha’s own influence the best for her ? ” 

11 What has pained me in Agnes,” said Amy , 11 is 
her apparent want of feeling towards Bertha. She 
might do much for her now. A joyous, light- 
hearted spirit, such as Agnes has, might add so 
much to Bertha’s happiness ! Oh, it is wrong of 
me to speak of Agnes so ; but every day, when I 
am with Bertha, I see how she is pained by the sel- 
fishness that Agnes shows.” 

“ You are with Bertha every day ? ” asked Mr. 
J asper. “ How happy for you, for her, you can do 
so much for her.” 

“ It is she that does much for me,” said Amy. 
11 She purifies my day for me, and makes the aii 
clearer.” 

“ Now, Mr. Jasper,” Mrs. Bunce broke in, “if 
this is a sermon you are preaching, I think your 
audience is too small. It is notlair; you have 
been talking to Amy the last half hour.” 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


147 


“ It is Amy who has been preaching to me/’ said 
Mr. J asper. u That is a chance I don’t have often, 
you know.” 

“ Well, I couldn’t think of any one’s venturing 
to preach to you,” said Mrs. Bunce. u Amy knows 
how to practise. She’s one of Mr. Peterson’s most; 
devoted parishioners.” 

“ Where did you find those cardinal flowers ?” 
asked Agnes of Martha. u I wet my feet and spent 
the whole afternoon yesterday trying to find some. 
Somebody said there were plenty by the brook.” 

“ Frank Rothsay brought us these,” said Martha. 

“ He found them ever so far off, by the glen, I 
believe.” 

u Oh, wouldn’t it be fine to get up a party for 
the glen?” said Agnes. u Amy, do let us go and 
find cardinal flowers. Tom Paxton is wild to go 
somewhere, and he is making forty thousand plans. 
He says it tired him so to see the house at home 
look just as it did when he went away, and all the 
people too are just the same. I should think it 
would be tedious enough, when he has been 
all over the world ! He has taken up the currant- 
bushes already, and would like to remove the elm- 
trees if they would move ! ” 

“ Poor Mrs. Paxton must be disturbed,” said 
Amy. 

“ Oh,” said Agnes, 11 1 think she likes it. It must , 
be better than vegetating as she did when Nora 
was at home. They might all of them have been 


148 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


rooted in the garden, for all the motion they ever 
indulged in ! I wonder Nora could travel ! It 
must be such a bore to her to remember where 
she is every day, and where she is going the 
next 1 ” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 

Hannah had one more interview with Janet. 
One evening at dusk, as she went out to go down 
in the village, she met Janet in the street. 

“ I have been waiting for you the last half hour 
and more,” said Janet, “ and I was just beginning 
to give you up. They must keep you pretty hard 
at work in there. At Miss Elspeth's you used to 
have a little quiet time in the evening at the gar- 
den gate.” 

“ I don't like to be idle,” said Hannah, “you 
know I never did.” 

“ Where are you going now? ” asked Janet. 

“ Only to the grocery store in the village,” said 
Hannah. 

“That grocery store,” exclaimed Janet; “I won- 
der if those same two lemons are in the window 
that used to be there in my day ! Langdale is a 
slow place. I have a new plan; I am going to 
New York now.” 

“ Going to New York ! Then you have given 
up living in Board Court, and the theatre, and 
all?” 


150 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“I couldn’t make it go without you/’ said Janet; 
“they engaged me to do the sewing, and I couldn’t 
do a stitch of it. You were to have done the sew- 
ing, and I was to get the place for you.” 

“ Then I was to have done all the work,” said 
Hannah, “and you were to have the fun you talked 
about. I wondered why you wanted me so much.” 

“You needn’t be bitter about it,” said Janet; 
“if you are so fond of work you needn’t have 
minded it. And you must agree I was calculated 
to make the best impression about getting the 
place. I never could sit down and sew ; I should 
soon be tired of that.” 

“But where are you going to in New York?” 
asked Hannah. 

“ Oh, I’m going to try my fortune there,” said 
Janet ; “ I never like to live long in one place. It 
grows tiresome after a while. I expect to find 
friends there, — but I want you to go on with me.” 

“ To do your sewing?” asked Hannah. 

“You needn’t take that so hard,” said Janet; 
“ you might just as well work for me as for Mrs. 
Carlton, or anybody else, and better too, if I can 
get you better wages for it.” 

“ I don’t see what you have to offer me in New 
York,” said Hannah. 

“ Well, very much the same place I had for you 
in Boston,” said Janet; “then New York is so 
large that there is plenty to do. And even if you 
went out to work there, you would have a better 


BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 


151 


time. You needn’t have to work half so hard, 
and it’s a great place to live in.” 

Hannah went into the little store to make her 
purchases, and then turned back with Janet. 

“ I am going to the Carltons’ this next week,” 
she said, “ and I have been thinking about what 
you have told me when I saw you before. If I 
find it hard, I will go on to New York and meet 
you somehow.” 

“ If you come into Boston, to Board Court, 
they’ll tell you there where I am, any time. You 
know your mother’s dead,” Janet added abruptly. 

“ How ? What do you mean ? ” asked Hannah, 
surprised. 

“Well, I thought you would have heard of it,” 
said Janet; “you’ll hear of it in time. Mrs. 
Badger has been fussing round in Board Court, 
and she will be out to tell you all about it. You 
can’t feel very bad, after all, you went away from 
her.” 

“I have always thought, Janet,” said Hannah, 
“ that sometime or other — ” 

“ Sometime or other is what you are always 
talking about,” said. Janet; “that is where you 
live, in 1 sometime or other.’ You always thought, 
I suppose, that sometime or other you would drive 
in from Langdale in a coach and four horses, and 
take your mother away, and live like great folks in 
a hotel.” 

“I believe I did think very much so,” said 
Hannah. 


152 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


"Well, you may come in, in the omnibus; I don’t 
see how you’ll come any other way from Lang- 
dale,” said Janet. “ I may as well bid you good- 
by ; if I’m going to see you 1 sometime or other,’ 
I shall see you no time.” 

u Perhaps you will see me this winter,” said 
Hannah ; “ I shall have earned enough to go to 
New York. I had meant to keep my earnings.” 

" Then you have' begun to save up something,” 
said Janet. 

“ Miss Elspeth keeps my savings,” said Hannah. 
" I wish I were you, Janet ; I should like very 
well to go round from one place to another. But 
I can’t go now.” 

“ Good-by, then,” said Janet; "I shall see you 
1 sometime or other.’ ” 

Hannah had found it hard to part with Miss 
Elspeth and the family, when it came time for her 
to go to the Carltons. It seemed more like going 
away than when she went to the Rothsays. Amy 
was the same friend to her that Miss Elspeth was. 
She would have been willing to work for her for 
love. She was now beginning to enter upon ser- 
vice, to work for wages. 

“ You won’t be able to come and help us at our 
busy times now,” said Miss Elspeth ; “ so, Hannah, 
we shall depend upon seeing you at your leisure 
hours. You will have Saturday evenings to your- 
self, and you must always come here then. It will 
be a quiet time to see you in.” 


BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 


153 


“ And don’t forget what I told yon about keep- 
ing tidy yourself/’ said Miss Dora; “whatever you 
do, don’t forget to make things look neat. With 
all the boys at the Carltons, the house always looks 
topsy-turvy. You can see after things a little. 
You can be of great use in the family.” 

“ Don’t give Hannah more to do than Mrs. Carl- 
ton will find for her,” said Miss Elspeth ; “ I don’t 
want to have Hannah work herself to death.” 

Afterwards, she said to Hannah, “ You must not 
forget to come to me if any trouble comes. Don’t 
stay at home and think over your troubles, but let 
me know what they are. Yery often I may help 
you.” 

Bessie said to Hannah, “ One of these days I 
shall be going out to work too. I have been 
thinking about it a great deal since it has been 
planned you should go.” 

“ That won’t come for a great while,” said Han- 
nah. 

“ I don’t know that,” said Bessie ; “ I want to 
be earning some wages and doing something. Not 
that I am ready to leave here ; oh, that would be 
hard enough ! How kind Miss Dora and Miss 
Elspeth were to take us away. I don’t remember 
much about the old home, Hannah, but sometimes 
I have bad dreams about it, and recall old faces 
that make me shudder. And there were such 
harsh words spoken there, and the people that 
came home at night talked so loud, it frightens me 
to think of them.” 


154 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ Do you think of them all so?” asked Hannah. 

“Of all but Steevie,” said Bessie; “I think I 
would like to see him again ; yet I have had bad 
dreams even of him, and have fancied he came 
sometimes to take me to some dark place.” 

“ Oh, don’t think of such things,” said Hannah, 
shuddering ; “ I had rather think that sometime 
we shall go and find him.” 

“ Perhaps we shall,” said Bessie, “ though I 
don’t like ever to think of leaving here. It has 
seemed so sunny ever since we came here. What 
bad ways I had when I first came. I am not so 
very good now; I do a great many things that 
Martha and Margie don’t even think of. But then 
I did not know what it was to do right, and now I 
do wrong when I know it is not good to do it.” 

“ You are not a bad child,” said Hannah, half 
laughing. 

“ I’m not as bad as I should have been if it had 
not been for Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora,” said 
Bessie ; “ I have such dreams of what I would like 
to do when I grow up.” 

“ What is it you want to do ? ” asked Hannah. 

“ Oh, it is quite too good to come true,” said 
Bessie, “but I like to think about it. I would 
like nothing better than to live always here, and 
take care of Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora. By-and- 
by they will be growing old, and Miss Dora will 
have to give up working. It’s very selfish in me 
to take to myself the caring for them that would 


BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 


155 


be so pleasant, and seeing to their house and all. 
But you others can all do better things. You are 
a great deal wiser than I am, Hannah, and are fit 
for a gr^at deal more. Martha will be going away 
to teach one of these days. Perhaps she will live 
with us, and go into town every day to her school. 
That would be good. And Margie could never 
take care of the whole house. But I could, for I 
know what Miss Dora wants, and I should not 
mind if she scolded me when I did wrong.” 

“ Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora would like noth- 
ing better, Bessie,” said Hannah ; “ I don’t know 
why it should not be so.” 

“ Oh, it’s too good,” said Bessie , 11 and I should 
like first to be earning something, just to show 
them that I could. But then, where would you 
be ? You must not be far off.” 

Miss Elspeth had heard of the death of Mrs. 
O’Connor, from Mrs. Badger, who said that people 
were glad in Board Court that her establishment 
there was broken up. Hannah thought more than 
ever of her talks with Janet, and was even moved 
to join her and go on to New York with her. She 
had been much touched by her talk with Bessie. 
Bessie had spoken of a feeling toward Miss Els- 
peth and Miss Dora, that Hannah was conscious of 
in herself. It was this feeling that had restrained 
her when her old love of wandering, that had been 
so long kept down, tempted her to go away. She 
did now feel bound to Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora. 


156 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


It would be really hard to do anything to pain 
them. For more than five years she had been pro- 
vided with a quiet, peaceful home. She had not 
been troubled each day with doubts as to how she 
was to live to-morrow. She had been kindly and 
gently led and taught. At first, she had not been 
willing to trust to the kindness that was shown 
her. She had rather believe that it was not shown 
her from goodness of heart alone, but from some 
unknown selfish motive. She could not believe in 
such unvarying kindness, nor understand it. The 
suspicion and the distrust lingered still, yet Han- 
nah was gradually and unconsciously softened by 
the influences round her. Five years of quiet, 
tame life had quieted her, though she was hardly 
aware of it herself. All the years before, she had 
lived in a roving, aimless way, and the old love of 
change came up often to assert its power. Often 
came back the old longing to live where she would 
not be bound to anybody, — where she might be 
free, even if she were only free to starve. Bessie 
showed greater gratitude to their kind friends than 
Hannah was willing to acknowledge or express. 
Hannah began to feel her own conscience relieved. 
Yes, Bessie should stay and take care of Miss 
Elspeth and Miss Dora, and Hannah herself would 
be free of that charge. She herself would go out 
and try the world ; she would leave behind Bessie 
and all, as before she left the old home, — it could 
not be harder now. 


BEGINNING OF SERVICE. 


157 


But it was harder. For before, she had never 
been bound by any sense of duty, and now she was 
tied by it imperceptibly. When Martha and Bes- 
sie bade her good-night at Mrs. Carlton’s door, 
Hannah waited a moment till the sound of their 
footsteps had died away. She did not, as she had 
planned, turn away from the door, to go to the 
station with her bundle, and take the evening train 
for Boston. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


NEW DUTIES. 

Mrs. Carlton had given Hannah her directions 
over night. She was to be the first one up the 
next morning, and her first duty was to unlock the 
front door and wash the steps. 

Hannah was standing on the threshold with her 
pail, having performed this task. It was a frosty 
morning, and the last of the dead leaves were falling 
to the ground. It was still and quiet, the only 
sound was the gentle fall of the leaves, and a little 
rustling in the dead branches of the vine by the 
door. Hannah looked up through the dark pines 
that stood against the clear blue sky, and again at 
the little path she had cleared so carefully from the 
whirling leaves. Whatever her thoughts were, 
they were suddenly interrupted by a shout behind 
her. It came from some voice up stairs. 

11 New girl, new girl, what are you about? here 
are my boots to clean ! ” 

il Look out for your head, new girl,” cried another 
voice ; “ you must clean mine too.” “ And be quick 
about it, for we want to put them on right off.” 


NEW DUTIES. 


159 


“ Mine too,” cried a small wee voice. And down 
came a clatter of heavy boots from over the stairs. 

“ Be particular to give them an extra polish,” 
the voices began again. “And hurry up, don’t 
move like a snail.” 

“ I shall be down after mine before you can turr 
round.” 

A door was heard to open, and another voice ex- 
claimed, 

“ What’s all this noise ? Go back into the nursery, 
Harry • Fred, are you not ashamed to be stirring up 
the house so, at this hour? Don’t let me hear one 
word more ! ” There was a slam of the doors, then 
a silence, then a whispered sound, “We shall be 
down the back way, so fly round, new girl ! Extra 
fine blacking ! ” 

Hannah’s head had fortunately escaped any blow, 
and she picked up the pile of boots of different 
sizes, that lay scattered round. She carried them 
to the kitchen, where Bridget could give her some 
directions as to what she should do with them. 
Here was a pair of heavy boots with thick soles 
and quite covered with mud ; next, came a pair a 
size smaller, but a close imitation of the first ; the 
third were smaller still, and the mud less alarming. 
The two others were not so shapeless, and less 
heavy. The smallest of more delicate form, still 
bore the shape of a childish foot, while the rest 
tried to look very mannish. 

Hannah had hardly half finished blacking the 


160 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


boo.ts when there came down the back stairs a sup 
pressed clatter. Fred was carrying the little Harry 
in his arms. “ Where are my boots ? oh, ready? 
well, that was smart ! I’ll soon have them on. I 
must go out, Jack, and see what Mike is doing with 
the cow ; there’s no hurry about you.” 

“ Jack has got my boots,” cried Tom ; “ it’s just 
like him ; he always thinks he’s as big as I am.” 

“ 1 hope we’re going to have something good for 
breakfast, Bridget,” said Fred. 

“ We didn’t have anything fit to eat for supper, 
last night,” said Tom. “ I’m as hungry as a bear ! ” 

“ Where’s Arthur? ” said Jack. “ I am going to 
pull him out of bed, he’s so lazy.” 

“ You’ll take me out to see the cow ? ” said Harry ; 
11 don’t go without me.” 

“ Why, you haven’t got any boots,” said Fred. 

" Take me on your shoulder, Fred, never mind 
about my boots,” said Harry. 

“ Now, Mr. Fred, don’t let him go without his 
boots,” said Bridget anxiously ; “ what will his 
mother say ? ” 

“It won’t hurt him. It will save his boots,” said Fred. 

Hannah finished the blacking, Tom giving his 
assistance too. She felt relieved when they were 
all out of the house, and she was left to lay the 
breakfast-table in peace. She had a dread of this 
mob of boys, and she trembled at their voices. 
She did not meet with them again till she was sent 
into the dining-room at breakfast-time with some 


NEW DUTIES. 


161 


hot cakes. Fred had brought his dog in from the 
barn, and Fido was lying stretched by his side. 
Hannah did not see the dog, and as she came up to 
the table, she stumbled over him, letting her plate 
fall. The dog shook himself and gave a growl. 
11 That’s clumsy ! ” said one voice. 

“You’ll please to let my dog alone,” said Fred. 

“ I’ll thank you for the cakes,” said another. 

“ Poor fellow, poor Fido ; here’s a bone, poor fel- 
low.” 

“ I wish you’d look where you are stepping,” 
said Mrs. Carlton ; ” take the plate back, and bring 
some fresh cakes.” 

" She’s a clumsy one,” said Tom as Hannah left 
the room. 

“ Well, that dog is always in the way,” said Ag- 
nes ; “ that’s a fact. It is no place for him, in the 
house ; the next thing, we shall have him on the 
table.” 

Fred took Fido up in his arms, and set him up 
triumphantly by Agnes’s elbow. 

“ Put your dog down,” said Mr. Carlton ; “ Agnes 
is right ; we have noise enough in the house, with- 
out the dogs beside. 

u Fido is harmless enough,” said Fred ; “ only if 
stupid Irish girls will tread on him — ” 

u Hush, she’s coming in again,” said Arthur. 

u Don’t tread on the dog,” said Jack. Fido by 
this time was at the other end of the room, looking 
out of the window. Jack’s remarks were always 
11 


162 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


considered witty by the others, and whenever he 
spoke, the rest were ready to laugh. So an insult- 
ing suppressed titter greeted Hannah as she came 
in and went out. 

i “ Agnes has an extra flourish to her hair,” said 
Jack. 

“ She’s dressed up,” said Tom ; “ I wonder what 
she’s going to do so early.” 

“ I’m going into town,” said Agnes; “ you needn’t 
wonder long.” 

“ Will your highness have the pleasure of es- 
corting me in ? ” said Fred. 

“ I shall go in the early train,” said Agnes. 

“ Agnes, you are not going off early this morn- 
ing,” said Mrs. Carlton ; “ you know Miss Simpkins 
is coming to-morrow about the boys’ clothes. I 
want to be ready for her to-day.” 

“ If Miss Simpkins is coming about the boys’ 
clothes,” said Agnes, “ 1 don’t see why you need 
me ; I thought she was to do the work.” 

“Pray, don’t wear Agnes out with working, ma’a,” 
said Fred ; “ Agnes has so much to do, she’ll be used 
up.” 

“ She was so dreadful busy yesterday afternoon,” 
said Tom, “ she could not make the bobs to my 
kite. She wouldn’t make half a bob.” 

“ You ought to have called them Koberts,” said 
Jack, “ that would have been more elegant. Agnes 
likes to be elegant.” 

“ I know what she was doing,” said Tom ; “ she 
was on the sofa all the afternoon, reading.” 


NEW DUTIES. 


163 


“ I wish Agues had never learned to read,” said 
Mrs. Carlton. 

“Well, Arthur, what have you to say?” said 
Agnes, “ everybody has something against me all 
round. It seems to me it’s a harmless thing for me 
to go into town.” 

“ Perhaps you’ll stay,” suggested Jack. 

“ I’m glad enough to have you go into town,” 
said Fred, “ because you may treat me to an ice or 
something after school.” 

“ I’m going in with the Lees,” said Agnes. 

“ I wish you’d tell them to have their names writ- 
ten on their bonnets,” said Fred. “ I can’t tell the 
Lees apart. I can tell them without their bonnets. 
The one that has red hair is Maria.” 

“ One of them talks so silly and mincing, I can 
always tell which she is,” said Tom. 

“ Neither of the Lees has red hair,” said Agnes, 
indignantly. 

“ Now I’ll appeal to John,” said Fred. “Don’t 
one of the Lees have red hair? ” 

“ It don’t make any difference what Jack says,” 
said Agnes. “ Maria’s hair is a reddish brown.” 

*“ Why, now,” said Jack, “ I’ve been wondering 
all breakfast time whether that bow on your collar 
was made out of red ribbon or out of one of the 
Lee’s hair.” 

“ You are too silly,” said Agnes. 

“ If you are going into town, Agnes,” said Mrs. 
Carlton, “ there’s some buttons and sewing silk to 


164 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


be got, and then I want you to match that plaid. 
I'll show you before you go in.” 

“ What are you going to do in town ? ” said Mr. 
Carlton. 

“ I think I shall have my daguerreotype taken,” 
said Agnes. 

“ I don’t like to have you going to daguerreotype 
rooms with those girls,” said Mrs. Carlton. “ I wish 
you’d speak to Agnes, Mr. Carlton. I’ve sewing 
enough to keep her at work all day, and Agnes 
has spent half her time in town since she came 
home.” 

“ Why, you’ve Hannah to sew for you,” said 
Agnes. “ That’s what she’s here for.” 

“ Oh, yes ; set the new girl to sewing,” said 
Jack. “ She knows dog stitch ; I guess she’ll know 
cat stitch.” 

“ I can’t tell about Agnes going into town,” said 
Mr. Carlton. “ I’ve just promised to buy her a 
season ticket.” 

“ A season ticket ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Carlton. 
“ Why, she’ll be in and out every day. What are 
you thinking of? ” 

• “ I’ve been to school steadily the last five years,” 
said Agnes. “ I think I might enjoy myself a little 
while now. The rehearsals begin very soon, and 
then I must go in regularly. I may as well have 
the use of my season ticket now.” 

“ There’s a great deal of time wasted at those 
rehearsals,” said Mrs. Carlton. 


NEW DUTIES. 


1G5 


“ I mean to patronize the rehearsals this year,” 
said Fred. 11 Half of the fellows are going, and I 
intend to invest in some tickets.” 

“ You can carry up Bertha’s breakfast, Agnes,” 
said Mrs. Carlton. u It is time she had it.” 

“ Why don’t you send for Hannah ? ” said Agnes. 
1 1 thought she was to wait upon Bertha. I am 
sure I haven’t time this morning. I am going to 
call for the Lees, and very likely they will keep 
me waiting.” 

“I begin to pity the new girl,” said Tom. 
u She’s to do all the sewing and all the waiting 
that Agnes don’t do.” 

u I thought you were going to say that Agnes 
used to do!” said Jack. “ That wouldn’t be 
much.” 

11 Here, Fido ! ” called Fred, and went out, fol- 
lowed by a train of the boys. 

u Don’t stay up in Miss Bertha’s room now,” said 
Mrs. Carlton to Hannah, when she was called in. 
“ I want you to clear away the breakfast things 
when you come down.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS. 

Hannah carried her tray slowly up stairs. The 
little mob of boys were in the entry below, looking 
after their hats and caps. She fancied they were 
jeering at her. 

“ Somebody’s cleared away my cap/’ cried one. 

“ And somebody has taken my hoop-stick/’ said 
another. 

u You’d better look in the kitchen fire for it. 
Some folks are so clumsy and don’t know any bet- 
ter,” said another, and great laughter followed. 

But the hubbub ceased, and the front door was 
slammed by the retiring army. 

Hannah rested her tray on the stairs. She was 
bewildered and indignant. How could she submit 
to be treated in this way ? And there was nobody 
to defend her. Why had not she gone off into 
Boston the night before? She could not stay 
another day to be insulted and oppressed this way. 
She took up her load again and found her way to 
Bertha’s chamber. She opened the door, and what 
a quiet air she came into, and what a pleasant light ! 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS. 


167 


There were white muslin curtains round the win- 
dows and round the bed, and the sunlight came 
streaming in across the carpet. 

11 It is too bad of me to be so indolent/’ said 
Bertha, as Hannah entered the room, “ and to give 
everybody such trouble. To think of my having 
my breakfast in bed ! That must seem quite too 
luxurious when everybody is working hard in the 
house. I won’t keep you waiting here long. If 
you will set the tray down, I should like to have 
you bring me one thing. In the little dressing- 
room are my flowers. I could not keep them here 
through the night. Will you bring me the vase 
from the round table ? They are the flowers Amy 
brought me yesterday morning. Hid you see that 
she cut one of her own roses for me ? That was 
like Amy, wasn’t it? But you need not stay 
longer. I know you are busy down stairs. Per- 
haps when all your work is done you can come in 
for a little while, to sit with your sewing ; it may 
rest you.” 

Hannah felt rested already as she left the room. 
The quiet atmosphere, Bertha’s beautiful face and 
gentle tone, the sight of Amy’s pet flowers that 
she had arranged for Bertha, all softened Hannah. 
She went down stairs, and for a little while their 
influence lingered with her, in the midst of a wrang- 
ling talk that was going on between Agnes and her 
mother. 

Mrs. Carlton was very injudicious in her attempts 


168 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


at management of Agnes. She unfortunately 
believed that all reading was folly, and all study a 
waste of time. She herself never spent her time 
in anything but sewing from morning till night. 
Her own mind had always been taken up with the 
making up of her household linen, with all the 
details of needlework, and she expected her daugh- 
ters to follow in the same useful track. When 
Bertha was a child she had instructed her carefully 
in this branch of fine sewing. She was very much 
shocked when Bertha went to school and showed a 
desire to learn something else. 

Bertha pleaded that all the other girls were per- 
mitted to read and study, but Mrs. Carlton sup- 
posed it to be the depravity of the generation, and 
believed it would grow wiser in time, and learn that 
its daughters should know only how to make shirts 
and sheets, and that it was not important they should 
know anything else. But Bertha, with her industry 
and her eagerness to keep up in school with the friends 
of her own age, had been able to gratify her moth- 
er’s desires and her own. She managed to make 
herself a bright, intelligent scholar, and to satisfy 
her mother’s demands at home. She sewed dili- 
gently and steadily, and read and studied as earn- 
estly. She even won her mother’s consent to 
read such useless books as Scott’s novels, and the 
like. Her mother considered it a waste of time, 
but Bertha was generally so active and busy, she 
might be permitted to waste a little time. It was 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS. 


169 


not so dangerous for her as for some girls who 
spent their time in nothing but reading. Bertha 
did more than this. She was always ready to help 
the younger children. She spent all her spare time 
from school with her sewing in the nursery, where 
the little army of boys were collected, and was at hand 
to help our their knots and soothe over their little 
quarrels. She knew how to suggest plays when 
they were tired of the old ones, or would tell 
tell them a story while she finished u this piece of 
work for mamma .’ 7 Mrs. Carlton sat there, undis- 
turbed by the tumult around her. She was so 
taken up with her stitching and her long seams, 
that her ears seemed to have grown indurated to 
all noise. The children seldom thought of appeal- 
ing to her. If they did in extreme cases, the most 
innocent were often the most severely scolded and 
punished, for she had no time to inquire into the 
source of the trouble. Bertha was not able to bear 
this long. She had taken a violent cold, and then 
a fever followed. She thought she was well again, 
and tried to go through all the old duties. But 
often she was obliged to lean back in her chair, her 
head weary with the noise round her, and her pale 
hands folded over her work. At last she was 
obliged to give up school, and presently, work. It 
was only within the last year that Mrs. Carlton had 
begun to see that Bertha was really ill ; that she 
was coughing badly ; that she must not let her sit 
with the children ; that she herself must watch to 


170 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


see that Bertha did not tire herself. Fred was 
proud of discoursing with the younger children of 
those happy days when Bertha was well and used 
to play with them. Bertha was not like Agnes, to 
think that boys were only great plagues. Even 
now Bertha ventured to sit a little while in the 
play-room, and w T hile she was there the tumult 
would be quieted. Tom would refrain from knock- 
ing down Harry’s brick house, and Jack find some- 
thing better to do than upsetting Arthur and all 
the chairs in the room. 

Mrs. Carlton had met with a great disappoint- 
ment in teaching Agnes. She was not like Bertha. 
She was gay and wild, without any special fault, 
bqt a dislike to be pinned down to tiresome sew- 
ing. She became so unmanageable that, in a fit of 
despair, Mrs. Carlton sent Agnes off to a boarding- 
school, a school of which she knew nothing, except 
that “ the Lees ” went there. Mrs. Carlton had 
always professed a dislike to the Lees, as being 
idle girls, and likely to set Agnes a bad example, 
but as she had no higher object in sending Agnes 
away than to throw off the responsibility from 
herself, it was not inconsistent that she should 
send her to the first school that offered itself. 
Bertha regretted it deeply. She wanted Agnes at 
home. She wanted her to care for and love the 
boys. Her owm illness, her loss of strength, pre- 
vented her from doing all she could do for them, 
and longed to do herself. She believed if Agnes 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS. 


171 


could only grow up a little longer at home, she 
must learn to love these duties as she herself did ; 
and she saw, on the other hand, that Agnes was 
growing even more weaned from them. 

Mrs. Carlton regretted that she had not another 
daughter to bring up to her favorite occupation. 
The boys, of course, scorned the idea of sitting 
still for a moment. Only little Arthur, who was 
more delicate than the others in his organization, 
and shrank sometimes from their rough plays, con- 
sented to learn a little patchwork. But he was so 
laughed at by his brothers, who called him a “girl- 
boy,” that Mrs. Carlton had to give him up in 
despair. 

Now that Agnes had returned, Mrs. Carlton was 
very capricious and injudicious with her. She 
held a fresh contest with her every day. She 
abused every occupation Agnes showed the least 
interest in. She was quite as loud in reproaching 
Agnes for waste of time, if by chance she took up a 
volume of Macaulay’s History to read, as if sitting 
idly at the window. Agnes, in the end, took her 
own way. She went where she pleased, and stayed 
out as late as she pleased. . She read what sh% 
chose, and had no fixed hours for occupation any 
day. She was a favorite in Langdale. Everybody 
liked to have her with them on any party of pleas- 
ure, and as she had her own time at her disposal, 
she never refused any invitation. Agnes was a 
favorite of her father’s, too. He liked to have her 


172 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


go in and out of town with him. She picked up 
gossip and lively stories -with which she enter- 
tained him in the evening when he was tired. 
Mrs. Carlton, through all the warm summer even- 
ings, as well as by the winter fireside, would be 
sitting occupied with her absorbing work, and it 
was a resource when Agnes could spare time from 
her numerous friends of the village, to relate her 
day’s experiences, set off with brilliant coloring 
and due exaggeration. He liked to have her come 
in upon him in his office in town. Her handsome, 
gay face lighted up the dingy room, and put him 
into a mood to grant whatever she chose to ask 
him. 

This morning, Mrs. Carlton and Agnes were 
arguing again the question of her going into town 
so early. 

“ You can be of great help to me/’ said Mrs. 
Carlton, “ if you stay till the afternoon, and go in 
then to do my shopping.” 

“ It’s too late now,” said Agnes ; u I’ve put on 
my bonnet, and it would be a waste of time to 
take it off again. Besides, I have promised the 
L&es.” 

“ What are you going to do with your daguer- 
reotype ? ” asked Mrs. Carlton ; “ you had two 
taken last week.” 

u It’s only a twenty-five cent one,” answered 
Agnes; “I don’t know but I shall give it to 
Tom Paxton. He wants a gallery of all the 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS. 


173 


Langdale beauties.” And with this, Agnes hurried 
away. 

Mrs. Carlton sank down, astonished. u Well, 
Mr. Carlton ought to do something about that ; 
Agnes does go a little too far. This comes of 
teaching girls, and sending them to school.” 

Fred came in to put up his luncheon. He went 
into town to school. Tom, and Jack, and Arthur 
went to the school in Langdale. Mrs. Carlton did 
not think it worth While to teach Harry his letters 
yet, but she was beginning to think she must send 
him to school too. He made as much noise as all 
the rest of the boys put together, when he was left 
at home. 

There was work for Hannah down stairs. When 
she was through with it, she was to take her sew- 
ing to the play-room and sit with Harry. Mean- 
while, Harry amused himself in getting into all 
sorts of mischief. His favorite amusement was 
sliding down the banisters. Every time Mrs. Carl- 
ton passed through the entry, she told him warn- 
ing stories of boys who had broken their heads in 
just such dangerous games. Harry kept on until 
he was allured by an inviting smell to the kitchen. 
But Bridget would not suffer him to stay there 
very long, and he came back as Mrs. Carlton was 
going into Bertha’s room. She took Harry in with 
her under his promise of keeping perfectly quiet. 
He was allowed to take in his last new horse, 
which had been brought to him last night. Its 


174 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


tail and one leg were already broken off, so that all 
zest in playing with it was destroyed, but still it 
was a worthy object to display to Bertha. Han- 
nah knocked at Bertha’s door to tell Mrs. Carlton 
she had done all she had been told. 

“ Have you cleaned the knives, cleared away 
the breakfast things, swept and dusted the parlor, 
shaken the mats, etc. ?” Mrs. Carlton asked. 11 You 
may stay here then, and do what Bertha needs of 
you, and then come in to your sewing. Here is 
the morning half gone, and I have not accom- 
plished anything. If Agnes had not gone into 
town, she might have shown Hannah about, and 
left me a little time for my sewing. I don’t know 
how we are ever to get on with the fall work, 
there are so many interruptions. We shan’t do 
more than be ready for winter when the spring 
comes.” 


CHAPTEE XXI. 


A DAY AT THE CARLTONS 7 . 

Mrs. Carlton was fond of pouring out the family 
troubles into Bertha’s ears, and Bertha was very 
willing to listen. It was all she could do to help 
on the family wheels, and she was patient too, and 
very thoughtful in her suggestions. 

Hannah now, under Bertha’s directions, set the 
room in. order, putting away all that gave it an in- 
valid air. She brought the flowers to Bertha her- 
self, that she might rearrange them, and then she 
drew Bertha’s couch to the window. This looked 
out upon the quiet lawn beside the house, and 
beyond to an outline of distant hills. The autumn 
sun came in cheerfully through the almost bared 
branches of an elm that hung across a part of the 
window. 

This was work that Hannah loved. She would 
not let a speck of dust rest anywhere, and her 
touch gave a finished air of neatness to the room. 
She did it quickly, too, lest she should be suddenly 
called away before all should be in proper order. 

" Now will you bring me my books ? I will have 
them on the table by my side,” said Bertha. 


176 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


11 Can you read much, Miss Bertha ? ” asked 
Hannah. 

u It tires me so that I can read but little,” said 
Bertha, but I love these books so much, that it 
seems like having friends, to see them here near me. 
And then I read when I am tired of thinking.” 

“ Oh, Miss Bertha, the time must go very slow 
when you are so much alone,” said Hannah. 

“ I have a great deal to think about,” said Bertha, 
“ and the sky outside and my flowers to look at. 
And Amy is here every day and my other friends. 
You will see I am not so very much alone.” Ber- 
tha gave a kindly smile of thanks as Hannah left 
the room, and said, 11 My room has not looked so 
neat and cheerful this long time.” 

Hannah went into the play-room where Mrs. Carl- 
ton was sewing. Harry had made a train of cars 
of all the chairs in the room, except the one Mrs. 
Carlton occupied. A contest arose between Mrs. 
Carlton and Harry, she insisting that he must give 
up a seat to Hannah. Harry was the victor. He 
declared his train was full, and he could not spare 
a single car, and Hannah was sent into the next 
room for a chair. But she did not sit long in quiet, 
her work was constantly interrupted by Harry’s 
demands. He was used to having the other boys 
to play with him, and he did not know how to 
amuse himself. Presently the door opened gently, 
and Amy appeared. 

“ I came in a minute to see how you and Hannah 


A DAY AT THE CARLTONS’. 177 

are getting on this morning. I can’t stop long, I 
am going in to see Bertha.” 

“ Everything is dreadfully behindhand,” said 
Mrs. Carlton, “ we grow worse and worse every 
day. It is such a piece of work to get the children 
off to school, and then they are at home again before 

I have time to turn round.” 

“We are all well at home Hannah,” said Amy, 

II Miss Elspeth was in this morning a little while, 
and she says they are all well there.” 

“ How is Mrs. Campbell ? ” asked Hannah. 

“ She seems better this morning, I am going to 
take her to drive when I go home,” said Amy ; u 1 
have been teaching the children. We all miss you 
very much.” 

u You are very good to teach those children,” 
said Mrs. Carlton, “ but, as Miss Dora says, where’s 
the use of so much teaching?” 

u Oh, Mrs. Carlton ; I don’t think any of us learn 
or teach too much ; ” said Amy laughing, as she 
hurried away to Bertha. 

“ I don’t see where Amy finds time to do so 
much,” said Mrs. Carlton ; “ I should think things 
must go behindhand somewhere in the house. She 
is so busy with sewing circles and book clubs and 
those things. The sewing circles are well enough, 
only anybody might accomplish twice as much sew- 
ing staying at home. All this going out takes up 
so much time. Now Agnes — ” 

Mrs. Carlton’s speculations were interrupted by 

12 


178 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


a loud bang at the front door. “ The boys have 
come home from school,” she sighed. A. loud clat- 
ter of heavy boots was heard on the stairs. “ The 
boys have come, the boys have come, I’m so glad,” 
Harry exclaimed as he rushed to the door. 11 Come 
along, Harry,” said Tom, “ we are going to have a 
great time down in the swamp.” 

u Now you are not going to take Harry down 
there,” exclaimed Mrs. Carlton ; “ he came in with 
his feet wet through this morning. His boots are 
not so thick as yours.” 

“ You should get him some dumpers then,” said 
Tom, “ but we want something to eat.” 

*• Hannah, you can get the boys some luncheon,” 
said Mrs. Carlton, “ if Bridget can find any. I de- 
clare, it seems as if we had just done breakfast. 
And you’ll have to tell Bridget to show you about 
laying the dinner-table. Now, Harry, you had bet- 
ter stay in.” • 

But Harry was already half way down stairs. 

The house was not left long in peace. There 
were constant emissaries back to it. Jack wanted 
a hammer, that Hannah must find for him. Tom 
came back for some more luncheon, and Harry 
was constantly sent through the mud to know 
what time it was, and then Hannah must go 
in and look at the parlor clock. The dinner went 
through with turmoil and confusion. Agnes and 
Mr. Carlton not being there, the boys had the talk 
all to themselves. They were loud in their vocif- 


A DAY AT THE CARLTONS*. 


170 


erations of what they would be helped to. Hannah . 
was bewildered by the crossfire of demands made 
upon her, and any little hesitation or mistake on 
her part was received with laughter and reproaches. 
It came out by their talk what was the great work 
they were all so busy about. They were building 
a bridge over one part of the swamp. 

“We shall hurry home from school, just as fast 
as we can,” said Tom, “ so as to get as much as 
possible done before Fred comes out to-night.” 

“ I shall speak to your father about it,” said Mrs. 
Carlton ; “ I don’t think it’s a safe business to be 
working in the swamp so, and Harry is all mud. 
You might pay a little consideration to his clothes, 
if you won’t to your own.” 

“ If Harry is dressed girl-fashion, he had better 
stay at home like a girl,” said Tom. 

t “ I won’t be a girl,” said Harry, “ and I won’t 
stay at home. I don’t care for my clothes.” 

“ It will take me all the afternoon to wash him 
and make him decent,” said Mrs. Carlton. 

But the boys hurried through their dinner and 
were off at school again, and Harry kept out of his 
mother’s way as long as possible, that he might 
not remind her of his disgraced appearance. Han- 
nah was sent after him, and^went through a long 
struggle with him. Harry imitated his older 
brothers in their treatment of her. 

“ You may take your work into Miss Bertha’s 
room, this afternoon,” said Mrs. Carlton; “that’s 


180 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


the only place in the house that’s quiet, and I 
want that stitching done to-day.” It was quiet as 
always in Bertha’s room. 

“I have had a little visit from Mrs. Paxton, 
this afternoon,” said Bertha ; 11 she came to tell me 
that Eleonora’s husband, Mr. Strange, is quite ill 
in Florence. Poor Nora ! it must be very hard 
for her, so far away from home.” 

“ What does Mrs. Paxton say about it?” asked 
Mrs. Carlton. 

“ I tried to persuade her to go out to Nora,” 
said Bertha, “ but she thinks it would be impossi- 
ble for her to get away.” 

Mrs. Carlton left the room to find Harry. 

" Miss Nora never has had any trouble before,” 
said Hannah. 

“ She has never had much pleasure, either,” 
said Bertha ; 11 she has, indeed, never known this 
kind of trouble, with her children, too, to care for.” 

“ She always seemed so stately,” said Hannah, 
11 that I can’t think of her being sorrowful.” 

“ She has never been moved much, either way,” 
said Bertha ; “ that will make it harder for her 
when she comes to suffer.” 

11 It seemed as if she lived only to have a good 
time,” said Hannah ; “ she has always had every- 
thing she wanted when she was at home, and then 
she went away to travel just where she pleased.” 

“ Yet you never saw her look very cheerful or 
happy, Hannah,” said Bertha. “I don’t know how 


A DAY AT THE CARLTONS*. 


181 


it. has been since she was married, since she went 
away. She writes home letters filled .with de- 
scriptions of beautiful places she has seen, but 
they are not very happy letters.** 

Agnes opened the door at this moment, and put 
in her head. “ I thought I would tell you that 
I*d got home, and I*ve had a first-rate time.** 

“ Oh, come in, come in, Agnes,** said Bertha. 

“ I*ve seen a little of everybody,** said Agnes, 
coming in, “ and have bought me a new dress. 
The shops are full of such beautiful things, one 
wants to buy everything, though I can*t think 
when I shall wear this. Oh, such colored ribbons, 
Bertha ! ** 

“But come here a moment; come nearer to me,*’ 
said Bertha ; “ what is this about the daguerreo- 
type? Mother is quite worried. You don’t mean 
to give it to Tom Paxton, with all the other girls?’* 
“ Oh, dear, no ; I just said it,” said Agnes ; “ I 
did not even have it taken. There was such a 
crowd of people at the place, I couldn’t wait. I 
only said it to make a fuss. Mother is worrying 
so all the time, I thought she might just as well 
have something to fuss about.” 

“ 0 Agnes ! why will you do so ? ** said Bertha, 
troubled. 

“ Well, because I am Agnes,” she answered ; 
“ you know you are here to be the good one, and I 
may as well vary the subject by being bad.” 

The tears came into Bertha’s eyes. 


182 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


11 You needn’t be troubled/’ said Agnes ; u I 
have to^figlit my battles. I’ll try to keep them 
out of your room, that is all.” 

“ It would be easy for you to get along without 
fighting/’ said Bertha, “ it is so easy for you to 
please people.” 

“ I should grow tired of clear admiration,” said 
Agnes ; “ I like variety, and I don’t mind being 
talked at. I like to have people talk at me and 
about me,” and Agnes gave one of her favorite 
shakes to her head, and went out of the room. 

Much to Mrs. Carlton’s satisfaction, Hannah fin- 
ished the appointed task of stitching, in the midst 
of her other duties. Mrs. Carlton praised Han- 
nah’s powers, and said Miss Elspeth was an excel- 
lent teacher. The boys all came home to a late 
supper from their labors in the swamp. Mr. and 
Mrs. Carlton left the tea-table to them, under Han- 
nah’s care. Fred pronounced the great work of 
the bridge to be going on admirably. Agnes came 
in to hear the account. 

“ What’s the use of having a bridge into a 
swamp ? ” she asked ; “ nobody wants to go there 
but the turtles and frogs. You boys had rather 
wet your feet than not.” 

“ You ought to be grateful, Agnes,” said Tom ; 
“ girls are always wanting to be getting at flowers 
in swampy places. Now, you’ll only have to cross 
the bridge.” 

“ I suppose you’ve pulled up all the flowers, 
making it,” said Agnes. 


A DAY AT THE CARLTONS’. 183 

“ Oh ! it’s great fun,” exclaimed Harry. 

“ I should think so,” said Agnes ; “you look as 
if you had been up to your ears in the mud all 
day.” 

The elder boys were left to study their evening) 
lessons in the dining-room. Hannah assisted in^ 
bearing the struggling Harry away to bed. Agnes 
held a conclave of the Lees at the door. Then 
she piled up the cushions on the sofa, and after 
she was comfortably arranged, amused herself by 
giving her father a lively account of her day’s 
proceedings. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


A WEEK. 

The first day had passed away at her new home. 
It had seemed very long to Hannah. She was 
amazed at its close to find herself looking forward 
with some- interest to the coming of another. 
She was excited by the little details that came 
along to interrupt its course, and she rose with 
unexpected alacrity to its new duties. She was 
not greeted this morning by the shower of boots 
that had roused her the day before. She went for 
them herself, and found it hard labor to free them 
from the mud of their work in the swamp. The 
duties that followed were very much those of the 
first day. There was the same rush and hurry of 
the boys, and noise and confusion while they were 
in the house. But in these last lingering days of 
autumn they were occupied out of doors almost all 
the time they were not at school. They brought 
in with them great quantities of mud, much to 
Mrs. Carlton’s horror, whenever they came in, 
while Hannah persevered admirably with her sew- 
ing in their absence. 


A WEEK. 


185 


Bertha was very much alone. It was true that 
she had many friends who came often to see her, 
but it was at uncertain hours. Amy was with her 
a few moments every day. Agnes was very capri- 
cious in her attention to Bertha. Sometimes she 
seemed to exert herself as much as possible to 
entertain her. She would sit with her and watch 
her motions and offer her whatever she needed. 
No one could be more amusing than Agnes was at 
such times, nor more tender in her manners. But 
she would be gone whole mornings or afternoons, 
scarcely seeing Bertha for the whole day. Some 
days, without telling any one her plans for the day, 
visiting the neighbors, or walking with her friends, 
lounging away her time in lively thoughtlessness. 

Berfcha liked to have the boys come in to see her, 
and they always behaved gently and thoughtfully 
while in her room. She showed them her flowers 
and her pictures. They brought home wonderful 
specimens of flowers that they had picked pur- 
posely for Bertha, which she always received cor- 
dially, and treasured. 

11 How can you keep those weeds to litter up 
the room ? ” Agnes exclaimed. “ That sprangling 
golden rod, and there’s a real mullein Jack has 
brought in to you.” 

u I always liked the golden rod,” said Bertha. 
11 You ought to admire its bright color with those 
purple asters.” 

“ Why, you can see them all along the roadside,” 
said Agnes. 


186 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


11 You forget,” said Bertha, “ that I can’t see 
them. You know it is only very rarely, now that 
the warm days are passing away, that I can go out 
to see golden rod and asters. I like to have it in 
the room. It makes me think of the broad fields 
of it on the edge of the road, bowing in the 
wind.” 

“ Well, I should as soon think of caring for the 
road fence,” said Agnes. 

Agnes was fond of throwing off the little labors 
she should have performed at home upon Hannah. 
She sent her upon errands, gave her work of all 
sorts to do, and called upon her continually. Even 
Mrs. Carlton remonstrated. 

11 It wouldn’t hurt you, Agnes, to do some of 
your going up and down stairs yourself. Hannah 
has enough to be busy about.” 

“ She’s paid to do the work,” said Agnes, unfeel- 
ingly, “ and I am not. If she thinks the work too 
hard, she can go.” 

The consequence was, that Hannah did have to 
work very hard. She was called upon by every- 
body for every kind of service, and service that 
was not requested but demanded. She was sitting 
one morning with her work in the play-room. The 
morning’s labors had been unusually hard and try- 
ing and she leaned back in her chair a moment, her 
hands resting upon her sewing. The boys had 
come home from school, and were all out at play, 
except Arthur, who stood by the window. He 
turned round suddenly. 


A WEEK. 


187 


u Are you tired of sewing?” he asked of Hannah. 

Hannah was surprised at his observing her, and 
went on with her work. 

u No, I am not tired of sewing. I like to sew.” 

11 Then I suppose you are tired of running about 
so up and down stairs.” 

“ I am used to that,” said Hannah. 

11 Then you must be tired of being ordered 
about,” said Arthur. 11 1 hate it. That’s w T hy I’ve 
come in. I don’t mind Fred’s sending me round, 
but when it comes to Tom and Jack’s ordering me 
about, I can’t stand it.” 

“ I don’t mind that,” said Hannah ; “ that does 
not tire me.” 

11 What makes you look so tired all the time, 
then?” 

“ Do I look tired?” asked Hannah. “I didn’t 
know it. It does not tire me to work, because I 
am used to it. I would like to work for some peo- 
ple all day long. I like to work for Miss Bertha 
because she is so kind ; she is pleased with what I 
do for her.” 

“ Other people like what you do,” said Arthur. 
“ Fred says you’re a trump.” 

“ I didn’t know I ever pleased him,” said Han- 
nah. “ He is talking at me all the time.” 

“ Well, you can’t expect him to be praising you 
up ; that is girls’ way,” said Arthur. “ But it is 
very easy to know when you’ve pleased Fred, and 
then the rest of the boys always think as he 
does.” 


188 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


Arthur was already tired of staying in the house, 
and he left Hannah, a little encouraged that she 
was beginning to find favor with those autocrats, 
“ the boys.” Saturday evening she went to Miss 
Elspeth’s. Through the week, since Monday night, 
when she left them, she had seen Bessie, Margie, 
and Martha occasionally, and Amy every day for a 
few moments. Sunday morning, when Hannah went 
in with Bertha’s breakfast, she lingered to speak 
with her. She had something to say which she 
found it hard to express. 

“ I don’t know as I have any right to think about 
it, Miss Bertha,” she began, “but Miss Elspeth 
encouraged me to think there was no harm, though 
it was a little plan I made all myself.” 

“ What is it?” said Bertha. 

Hannah brought our her plan clumsily. 

“ I wished I had time and knew how better to 
read to you, and then I thought Margie was such 
a good reader, and she would like to read to you so 
much. There are so many of your books that you 
are not well enough to read, Miss Bertha, and Miss 
Amy has not time either.” 

“ But Margie has not time,” said Bertha. “ Did 
you think of asking her to come to me ? Hannah, 
I should be afraid Miss Elspeth had enough for her 
to do, and Margie is too young to give up her play 
hours to me.” 

“ Oh, I spoke to Margie about it last night,” said 
Hannah, “ and she was quite glad with pleasure at 
the thought of coming, and hoped you would let 


A WEEK. 


189 


her. She is so fond of reading. They say she 
likes to read one book as well as another. She 
begged that she might come.” 

“And Miss Elspeth?” asked Bertha. 

“ Miss Elspeth was much pleased too,” said Han- 
nah. “ She said the books you would like to hear 
read would do Margie good. Margie said she 
would come any day or every day. I told them I 
thought you were most alone in the early part of 
the afternoon; that you could not always sleep 
then.” 

• “ Hannah,” said Bertha, “ it pleases me to have 
you so thoughtful of me. It pleases me as much 
as it will to have Margie come and read to me. 
And then you have chosen the right time too ! It 
is the hardest part of the day with me. I grow 
tired then, and am often alone.” 

“ Then you will let Margie come?” asked Han- 
nah, ‘eagerly. 

“Very gladly,” said Bertha. “She must not 
come every day, though. We will try every other 
day. I shall like to have it to look forward to.” 

“Then I may tell Margie this morning?” said 
Hannah. “ I shall see her on the way to church. 
She said she should come and meet me, she was so 
anxious to know.” 

Hannah went back to the Sunday morning’s 
duties, which were always especially confusing. 
The boys were always late at breakfast, and then 
they were to be dressed for church. In a most 


190 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


distracting manner Hannah was called in every 
direction. At one moment she was expected to 
carry hot water to Mr. Carlton ; to find a missing 
shoe of Harry’s ; to hunt up Tom’s cap, and to set- 
tle a difference between Tom and Jack as to the 
ownership of the only cap that could be found. 
There was great shouting up stairs and down. 
Agnes was secluded a long time in her room, and 
then came out in magnificent array. She stood in 
the entry, laughing at the “ set ” of the boys’ Sun- 
day collars. Harry had a violent fit of crying from 
some unknown cause. Jack upset Arthur, who 
was already dressed for church. 

II Dear me ! I should think it was Babel instead 
of Sunday morning,” said Mrs. Carlton ; “ Agnes, 
why can’t you help somebody, instead of standing 
there irritating , the boys?” 

“ I’m only giving them some wholesome advice,” 
said Agnes. 

“ Agnes looks like a peacock with its tail spread,” 
said Jack ; “ she has on all the colors of the rain- 
bow.” 

“I should think she might find my cap,” said 
Tom ; “ I can’t wear my straw hat to church, the 
brim is half torn off.” 

“ Who has lost a cap ? ” said Fred, who had been 
out to inspect the barnyard. 

“ It’s Tom’s cap ; have you found it ? ” said Mrs. 
Carlton, u it is time we started for church.” 

II I can’t say it’s much of a find,” said Fred ; “ the 


A WEEK. 


191 


brown hen has stolen her nest in somebody’s cap. 
She looks as comfortable in it under the barn stairs 
as if it were made for her. You will have to do 
without it. It wont do to disturb her.” 

" Under the barn stairs ! what a place for your 
cap, Tom ! ” said Mrs. Carlton. 

\ “I don’t believe it’s mine, it’s just like Jack to 
leave his there,” said Tom, as he joined the rush to 
see the brown hen’s nest. 

“ I’m so tired by the time I get to church, Sun- 
day mornings,” said Mrs. Carlton, “that I don’t 
have strength to listen to the sermon ; I am all in a 
flutter now. You might have been in Bertha’s 
room the last half hour making yourself useful, 
Agnes.” 

“ I don’t like to be useful Sundays,” said Agnes, 
setting forth as she saw the Lees poising the door. 
Hannah had barely time to prepare herself for 
church. She was in as great a flurry as Mrs. Carl- 
ton. It rejoiced her to meet Margie and to see her 
delight when she was told that Bertha was willing 
she should read to her. 

“ What a nice thought it was of yours ! ” Margie 
exclaimed ; “ I shall thank you for it to the end of 
my life ! Bertha is so lovely and so beautiful it will 
make me happy to be near her.” 

Hannah was indeed encouraged to think that she 
could make a plan that should be so well thought 
of. It was a new feeling with which she entered 
church. It gave her an unusual confidence in her- 


192 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


self, a consciousness that she was of worth to some- 
body. The remembrance of the little jars of the 
morning, its disagreements, passed away, and she 
felt more than ever before the solemnity of the 
place she had entered. Before, she was often list- 
less and inattentive. To-day Mr. Jasper’s words 
were encouraging to her mood of mind. 

Amy had observed a change in the style of Mr. 
Jasper’s preaching since he went away. He was 
younger then, but she remembered perfectly how 
hopefully, with what courage, he spoke, how earn- 
estly he exhorted all to go forward manfully in the 
battle of life. 

Now she thought he spoke more sadly, at times 
almost despondingly. Yet no one else seemed to 
remark this. His preaching was enthusiastically 
praised. 11 What an improvement upon old Mr. 
Peterson,” said Agnes to Amy as she came out of 
church ; “ I was really beginning to give up going 
to church, when Mr. Jasper came back.” 

Hannah gladly stayed at home with Bertha in 
the afternoon. Bertha was not so well this day. 
She was more languid, but not at all complaining. 
Her strength varied from day to day. In some 
warmer days of November she was strong enough 
to go down stairs, to go out occasionally to drive. 

When she came down stairs, the boys, even the 
younger ones, were devoted in their attentions tc 
her. 

“ It will be fine when you are well enough to 
come down every day 1 ” Tom said. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THOSE BOYS! 

There was a constant warfare between Agnes 
and her brothers. Their jarrings and bickerings 
formed the excitements of each day. There was 
a little world of tumult seething in the house all 
the time. Mrs. Carlton went on steadily with her 
sewing, and the affairs of the house moved along 
smoothly enough, but only in Bertha’s room did 
there seem to be peace and quiet. This incessant 
contest affected Hannah’s temper too. She became 
sullen in her obedience, and impertinent in her 
replies to the boys, and even to Mrs. Carlton. She 
was sorry for what she had said often as soon 
as she had spoken. It was not natural to her 
to yield to any sudden passion. She was slow in 
her thoughts, and was more wont to brood over any 
trouble, and heighten it by her mistrust and suspi- 
cion, than to give vent to her feelings. Now she 
had not time to bury herself in long fits of doubt. 
One offence quickly followed upon another. 

The faults of a household spread from the higher 
to the lower members. Agnes’s talent for repartee 
13 


194 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


was very attractive to the boys, who were glad to 
imitate it. Without any ill-feeling toward Hannah, 
they were glad to make her their butt, and expend 
their wit upon her. Bridget had a gift of the 
tongue too, and the same warfare went on in the 
kitchen that prevailed in the parlor. What a little 
world the four walls of each house shut in! The 
little duties of each day grow magnified till they 
come to seem great aims. The little differences 
between one and another are fostered till they grow 
into weighty strifes. Sickness and suffering are 
hidden in one place, and where there might be hap- 
piness in another, there is discordance and petty 
turmoil. One ruling, cheerful spirit might make a 
sunny home in all ! 

“If Bertha were only well ! ” thought those who 
looked a little into the interior of the Carltons’ 
home. Yet her secluded life had its influence over 
the turbid waves of the little sea about her. 

Agues, and her friends the Lees, came in one 
day, at noon, and heard a great tittering in the 
parlor. They stopped and looked through the 
door. There was Jack lounging on the sofa, an old 
bonnet of Agnes’s on the back of his head. The 
bobs of his kite were strung on each side of his 
face, and he shook them as though they were fall- 
ing ringlets. He was carrying on a talk, taking off 
Agnes, with Tom, very much to the amusement of 
Harry and Arthur, who were rolling on the floor 
with delight, and to the entertainment of two of 


THOSE BOYS. 


195 


their boy friends. “ I saw such an ecstatic shawl 
yesterday when I went into town / 7 he went on, 
“ it threw me into supreme delight ! I absolutely 
fainted, and would you believe it, Tom Paxton ? I 
was carried into Vinton’s and they had to throw 
two pails of ice-cream over me before I recovered ! 
Fortunately, one was flavored with vanilla, which 
you know I detest, and that of course roused me. 
It’s a happy thing my nerves are not easily shat- 
tered, or I shouldn’t be here now!” 

“ That would have been a dreadful pity,” said 
Tom. Jack ran on in the same strain. 

“ Those boys!” exclaimed Agnes. She kept in 
her laughter and went off to find a great coat of 
Fred’s, which she put on and returned with it into- 
the room where the boys were. She walked in, 
her hands in her pockets, imitating Jack’s indiffer- 
ent manner, and exaggerating it, making detestable 
puns and creating quite a roar on her side. 

“ Well, you’re a good-natured piece of elegance,” 
said Jack, shouting and throwing his bonnet on the 
floor. Mrs. Carlton came in at the noise. 

“ I should really like to know if there are young 
ladies in the midst of all this uproar? Agnes, 
what are you coming to next?” 

“Do let her have a little fun with us,” exclaimed 
Tom. “ It isn’t often she’ll consent to be amusing 
to us.” 

“I think you are in better business in your 
swamp,” said Mrs. Carlton, “ than cluttering up the 


196 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


parlor, and making such a hideous noise in the 
house.” 

“ That’s a fact/’ said Jack. “ Don’t let us stay 
any longer in the house. Agnes, why can’t you 
come and see our bridge?” 

“ You can bring along your Lees with you,” said 
Tom. 

“ Dance over, my Lady Lee,” whispered Jack. 

u I don’t care to see your bridge,” said Agnes. 
11 1 don’t want to wet my feet through.” 

“ Oh, my Lady Elegance has on her new boots,’* 
said Tom. 

“ There’s plenty of water in case she should faint 
at sight of mud,” said Jack. 

II Don’t say the word mud, or she’ll faint now,” 
said Tom, u and the Miss Lees too.” And the whole 
troop went clattering out of the house. 

II I should think you might know better,” said 
Mrs. Carlton, complainingly, “ than to encourage ' 
those boys. They talk enough as it is ! ” 

Agnes and the boys were not always at sword’s 
points. They were very glad to join in the amuse- 
ments that were got up when her friends came to 
.spend the evening with her. They listened with de- 
light to her talk, and were ready to join games and 
dances. They liked nothing better than these merry 
evenings, while the next day they would laugh 
unmercifully at her guests, caricaturing all they 
had said and done the night before. Even Harry 
was eager to sit up on such occasions. Many 


TflOSE BOYS. 


197 


times he was rigidly sent to bed, but would appear 
again at some unexpected door, or start up from 
behind a chair. 

Mr. Jasper came one day. He had hoped he 
might see Bertha. But she had not been so well 
for a few days, and was not down stairs. He found 
a coterie of Agnes’s friends assembled. 

u I was amazed to see you at the rehearsal, the 
other day,” said Agnes. 

“ Why shouldn’t I be there?” asked Mr. Jasper. 
11 May not I enjoy music as well as any of you 
young folks ? ” 

“ Oh, I supposed you were one of the kind that 
would not enjoy music when there were other 
people about,” said Agnes. “ Some people are so 
disturbed if you say just a word or shake your 
head while music is going on. I wish they would 
sit inside of the organ, they could not do anything 
but hear there.” 

11 And what else do you want to do ? ” asked Mr. 
Jasper. 

u Oh, I want to see and to talk a little myself,” 
said Agnes. “ It is so tiresome at the rehearsals 
when they play those long, solemn pieces ; one 
might as well be at church.” 

“ And not better?” asked Mr. Jasper. 

u Oh, I forgot about you,” said Agnes, “ and I 
was not thinking about your church.” 

“ I had rather you would not think of it as my 
church,” said Mr. Jasper. “ I serve in it only.” 


108 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ But I like to be lively when I am lively/ 7 said 
Agnes, “ and solemn when Fm solemn. Now the 
sermon last Sunday made me sober, and I liked it.” 

“Did you?” said Mr. Jasper. “You gave me 
a whole half hour, or nearly that ! I thank you for 
the present. 77 

“ I don’t see that it was much of a present,” said 
Agnes. “ Half hours are cheap. I am glad to be 
rid of them sometimes.” 

“ I was grateful for your attention,” said Mr. 
Jasper. “ Do you give that often? 77 

“ What do you mean ? I attend to what I’m 
about,” said Agnes. 

“ What are you about? 77 asked Mr. Jasper. 

“ It ought to be something very useful if Fm 
talking with you, I suppose,” replied Agnes. “Ev- 
erybody wants to set mo to work. Will you join 
the crusade ? What will you have me give my 
attention to beside your sermons ? 77 

“ Miss Sally More was calling at the Fays, when 
I met you there yesterday,” said Mr. Jasper. 

“ Yes ; how she did look ! 77 said Agnes. 

“ I saw you w~ere studying her,” said Mr. Jas- 
per. “ I dare say you could tell me just how she 
was dressed.” 

“ Oh, I meant to tell it all to the girls here,” 
said Agnes. “ It was a plum-colored silk ; a real 
old-fashioned plum-color. I had half a mind to 
bring out some of the Fays’ plums to see if they 
would not match. Then she had an immense 


THOSE BOYS. 


190 


parasol of a changeable green. There was a broad 
yellow ribbon on her' bonnet, and pink roses 
inside, and a red scarf round her neck.” 

“That will do,” said Mr. Jasper. “I did not 
intend to call out that sort of picture. I wanted 
to see what kind of attention you were paying to 
poor Miss Sally. Now, Amy Eothsay would have 
picked out something worthy from her; would 
have told me the story Miss Sally was telling.” 

“ Oh, that is your moral,” exclaimed Agnes. 
“ There’s always some such thorn concealed in 
what you say. Sometimes I have a very lively 
talk with you, and after I am at home and think it 
over, I find there was a dagger hidden.” 

“ That is wrong of me,” said Mr. Jasper. “ I 
ought not to wound any one’s conscience even, so 
long as it is alive.” 

“Amy Eothsay is a bit of perfection,” said Agnes. 
“ It is useless to hold her up as an example.” 

“ What do you mean by a bit of perfection ? ” 
asked Mr. Jasper. 

* “ I suppose I mean that there’s a large lump of 
perfection somewhere, and she’s a bit broken off 
from it,” said Agnes. 

“That is not saying enough,” said Mr. Jasper. 
“ The artists, you know, talk about a little 1 bit ’ of 
a landscape, meaning a pretty piece of tree and 
sky, that they can take out frpm the rest and frame 
by itself. Now Amy is just such a bit. She 
would bear to be put in a frame by herself and 
make a complete picture.” 


200 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ You go as far in praising as you do in finding 
fault,” said Agnes. “ The rest of us here are not 
worth framing, I suppose.” 

“ A little piece of nature would always be worth 
that,” said Mr. Jasper. 

II Now, I’m tired of talking that way,” said 
Agnes. “ Won’t you talk about the weather? It 
has been very entertaining lately.” 

“ Is there no hope of my seeing Miss Bertha this 
week? ” asked Mr. Jasper. 

II I can’t tell,” said Agnes, “ she varies so much. 
Some days she is much better, and then she is 
worse again. I wish she could have gone away. 
We wanted to send her with an aunt who was 
going to Havana, but Bertha thought she was not 
strong enough to go.” 

“ It is your gain ; I hope it is not her loss,” said 
Mr. Jasper. “ But you can do much to make her 
winter comfortable and not harmful.” 

11 1 can’t do much,” said Agnes. 11 It is not my 
way. I like to do as I feel. I can’t keep my 
strings stretched all the time.” 

“ Your iEolian harps that only wait for the wind 
are soon out of tune,” said Mr. Jasper. 

“ I hope it isn’t use that’s to keep me in tune,” 
said Agnes. “ I know I am jangling half the time.” 

“ Do you know,” said one of the Lees, after Mr. 
Jasper had left , il they say Mr. Jasper wanted to 
marry your sister Bertha when he went away ? ” 

u I never heard that,” said Agnes. 


THOSE BOYS. 


201 


" Well, people wouldn’t talk to you about it,” 
said Maria, “ and you were so young then you 
couldn’t tell.” 

“ I remember,” said Agnes, “ thinking he was 
here a great deal. He used to be very lively and 
full of fun.” 

“ Mr. Jasper don’t object to fun now,” said 
Maria. 

“ Well, let us go on with what we were about,” 
said Agnes. “ Mr. Jasper’s coming has quite put 
it out of my head.” 

“ You were telling about what Tom Paxton said,” 
said one of the Lees. 

“ Oh, yes ; how he thought he could persuade 
his mother to let us have their house for the theat- 
ricals. You know the handsome large parlors 
would be fine.” 

“ But Mrs. Paxton would never consent to hav- 
ing them upturned.” 

“ Oh, Tom can do what he pleases, you know,” 
said Agnes. 

“ All those things jrould have to be moved out,” 
said one of the Lees. 

“ And Mr. Strange is very sick too now,” said 
another. 

“You needn’t raise objections,” said Agnes, 
“ Tom Paxton can arrange it all. He has had the 
furniture moved about in the parlor two or three 
times since he came home. But we must not make 
much talk about it, or it can’t be done.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


TWILIGHT. 

Margie proved a very valuable reader to Bertha. 
She enjoyed the reading so much herself that she 
was never willing to allow anything to interfere 
with her afternoons in Bertha’s room. She had a 
romantic admiration for Bertha. It was a pleasure 
merely to sit and watch her motions, and a greater 
pleasure to perform any service for her. She 
admired the exquisite air of everything in the 
room, the delicate perfume of the flowers there, 
the beautiful engravings, too, of which Bertha had 
much to tell her, the absolute neatness of every- 
thing, the whiteness of the curtains, and the unin- 
terrupted sky view that came in at the windows. 
And Bertha always chose for her the pleasantest 
books. They were always such inviting looking 
books, too, the paper white and clean. She was 
willing Margie should read her poetry, and such 
poetry that they could talk about afterward, that 
Margie had never read, and that lingered long in 
Margie’s mind with all her other beautiful associa- 
tions with Bertha. Yet Bertha was not willing 


TWILIGHT. 


203 


that Margie should- dwell upon these alone, though 
she would gladly have read nothing else. She 
made her read gay, merry books, and others that 
were very serious. 

11 Oh, the winter afternoons are so short,” Margie 
exclaimed, as she went home one day ; u we have 
such a short time in them for reading, now-a-days.” 

Margie said this as she went into the parlor at 
Miss Elspeth’s. Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora were 
sitting in the twilight by the fire, with Bessie and 
Martha, only the fire lighting up the room. 

“ But you went this afternoon to the Carltons as 
soon as dinner was done,” said Bessie. 

“ Yet it became dark very quickly,” said Margie, 
u and Bertha actually sent me away. I did not 
like to come, she looked so beautifully. The light 
of the sunset came streaming into the room over 
her couch, and the flowers, and her beautiful face 
too.” 

“ Did you give Bertha your rose ? ” asked Miss 
Elspeth. 

11 Yes, but she had such lovely flowers to-day,” 
said Margie. “ Everybody sends her what is most 
exquisite and rare. There was one flower that I 
thought looked so much like her. It was shaped 
like the white water-lily, but instead of the pure 
white petals, they were pure blue. I can’t tell 
you the color of the blue, — it was like the blue of 
the sky when there are a great many white clouds 
in it. Agnes provoked me by saying it was French 
blue.” 


204 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ The color of forget-me-nots,” said Bessie. 

“ But the most beautiful part was the inside ; 
the yellow stamens were each tipped with this 
same delicate blue, and it was all cut so beauti- 
fully. I always thought the white 'water-lily was 
* the most lovely flower in the world, but this, oh ! 
this, was like Bertha.” 

“ How you do talk, Margie ! ” said Miss Dora ; 
“your tongue starts when you read to Bertha 
Carlton, and then you keep on.” 

“We had a talk this afternoon,” said Margie, 
“ about books, and imagination, and all those 
things. I said I did not see as there was any 
more harm in being occupied with my own imagi- 
nation, and being taken up by it, than in reading 
stories that other people have written.” 

“What did Bertha say?” said Miss Elspeth. 

“ She said it was a more selfish occupation,” 
said Margie, “because other people were inter- 
ested, too, in the books we read, but that we 
did not share the pleasure we had in our own 
thoughts. She said she had so many hours to her- 
self, that there was great danger she should forget 
the people round her, and forget to sympathize 
with them, and care what happened to them. She 
need never be afraid of that. She shows more 
interest in everybody than I do, walking round 
with them every day.” 

“There’s some sense in reading stories to Bertha 
Carlton,” said Miss Dora ; “ I don’t see as she can 


TWILIGHT. 


205 


do much else now, and Margie does as much work 
as when she was not away three afternoons in a 
week.” 

“ It is a great privilege for Margie to be with 
Bertha Carlton,” said Miss Elspeth. 

“ Are we not going to have the candles? ” asked 
Miss Dora. 

“ Oh, don’t let us have them yet,” said Bessie ; 
“it is so much pleasanter talking by this light. 
Margie never talks so much. She sits looking into 
the coals, and forgets we are here. Do go on 
about Bertha.” 

u I wish I could draw and paint,” said Margie ,* 
" I could make such a beautiful picture of Bertha ; 
oh ! I think I could. Words always seem very 
clumsy to say what I want to, and I do like color 
so much. She looks so thoughtful always, and not 
joyful, as Amy Bothsay does.” 

“ Did you see Hannah ? ” asked Miss Dora. 

“ Only for a few minutes,” said Margie ; “ I havo 
not talked with her lately. She used to sit in the 
room regularly, but Mrs. Carlton and Agnes find 
so much for her to do, it is too bad.” 

“ Let me take your stocking and set the heel,” 
said Bessie, seeing Miss Dora troubled at an intri- 
cate part of her knitting.” 

“ I can see "well enough,” said Miss Dora, “ only 
I think it’s time to have the candles. I don’t 
know what’s the matter with my spectacles, — 
they don’t suit me as well as they used to.” 


206 STRUGGLE FOR LTFE. 

“ I’ll get the candles,” said Martha ; “ this talk- 
ing by firelight is very pleasant, but then there 
are my French exercises.” 

“And, oh dear! I have some work to finish 
too,” said Bessie. 

At the same hour, at the Rothsays’ house, Amy 
was sitting by the firelight, in the parlor. She 
was waiting her father’s return from town. Mr. 
Jasper came in. 

“ I have been in to talk with Mrs. Campbell,” he 
said, “ and now I want to have a little talk with 
you.” 

He drew a comfortable chair to the fireside, and 
sat awhile, thinking. “ I want to ask you to do 
something for me,” said he, at last ; “ I want very 
much to see Bertha. Will you ask her if she will 
see me?” 

“ I think she will be glad to,” said Amy ; “ some 
days she seems very well, and I think nothing is 
better for her than to see her friends.” 

“ I have spoken to Agnes about it, but I had 
rather you would ask Bertha,” said Mr. Jasper; 
“ I think she may not wish it.” 

“ But she has seen a great many of her friends,” 
said Amy ; “ Annie Lane came the other day pur- 
posely to see her, and papa has seen her once or 
twice, and Frank.” 

“Do you remember that spring when Bertha 
was first ill?” asked Mr. Jasper. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Amy, “ and the violent attack 


TWILIGHT. 


207 


upon her lungs. She told me about it herself. 
I never shall forget that time, — it came upon 
me with a shock. She told me all the doctor 
said.” 

“ She was better a little while after,” said Mr. 
Jasper. 

“ Yes, very much better,” said Amy, “ and I felt 
very much encouraged, and tried to forget it 
all, — to forget that the doctor had said she might 
never be well. And we had together some pleas- 
ant spring drives, and some walks too.” 

“ And do you remember,” said Mr. Jasper, “the 
place we used to walk to, not far away, on the bank 
of the stream, where there is a willow that bends 
over and dips into the water ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Amy ; “ it is beautiful still 
just where the stream winds round the point.” 

“ I have never been there since that time,” said 
Mr. Jasper. “ I went one warm spring day, Ber- 
tha thought she could walk as far. We found the 
first anemones that day. Frank, your brother 
Frank, said he would meet us at the turn of the 
road, and would drive Bertha home. So we kept 
on as far as the stream. It was there, beneath 
the willow, that I told Bertha what she knew 
before, that I loved her, that I wanted her to 
marry me.” 

“ And Bertha ? ” asked Amy. 

“ She could not marry me,” said Mr. Jasper. 

“ She thought she should not live long, — was it 


203 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


so ? ” said Amy, after a pause. “ I remember we 
talked of that often, or -rather it was Bertha who 
talked to me of it. She was told she might live a 
few year's longer, with great care, but that perhaps 
she might not live the summer through. I could 
not bear to think of it, scarcely to hear her speak 
of it. But I know it was in her mind constantly, 
and that she was quietly preparing herself for it.” 

Mr. Jasper walked up and down the room, and 
said at last, u I would not like to give her pain. I 
would not like to excite her with thoughts that 
would harass her. If, indeed, she has her face 
fixed toward heaven, I would not like to call her 
back again to earth. And yet, I long to see her. 
No weary prisoner ever longed to see the light 
again as I have longed to see Bertha’s face once 
more. It used to give me strength and hopeful- 
ness, and when it was shut out from me, it left me 
dispirited, in the dark. God forgive me if it is a 
selfish wish, — if I forget what she may suffer in 
thinking of all that I shall gain in seeing her 
once more.” 

“ Bertha will tell me truly,” said Amy, after a 
while ; “ if she thinks it is beyond her strength, 
she will tell me so. But I do not think she is so 
easily excited as I have sometimes feared she 
would be. One great thought fills her mind, and 
everyfhing else is swayed by that. Oh, I would 
like to have you see her. I know it would bring 
you peace.” 


TWILIGHT. 


209 


“ More than five years I have been away from 
her,” said Mr. Jasper, “ and yet her image has 
been closely near me. I have almost fancied every 
day it might be her spirit, and that I should hear 
it had been freed, and so was able to come and 
keep me from being alone.” 

Mr. Jasper bade Amy good-night suddenly, and 
went away. Amy sank back again into thought. 
“Then Mr. Jasper banished himself from here,” 
she thought, “ and these last few years have made 
a separation between him and Bertha. How little 
while it seems since they were both here, and 
in this very room George sat too. How much 
more hopeful is my separation from him, — more 
hopeful as far as this world is concerned. And 
did Bertha love Mr. Jasper? He influenced her 
most powerfully, — that she has often acknowledged 
to me ; and I know that with her it would be pos- 
sible to keep such a love quite hidden in her 
heart. But yet, would she let him go away from 
her ? What reason could she have that would be 
powerful enough? And how much she must have 
suffered if it were so ! She is far more heavenly 
minded than I am. I am thinking so intently of 
my future happiness here, and she has built hers 
in another world.” 

It was not often that Amy was allowed the quiet 
time for a reverie by the fireside, and now her 
thoughts were interrupted. The little Campbells 
broke into the room. 

II 


210 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


" Cousin Amy, Katie has let us have tea in the 
kitchen, it was so late.” 

“ And what do you think we had for supper ? ” 

“ May we sit in your lap and tell you all we 
had for supper ? ” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

bertha’s room. 

The first snow came and fell heavily on the 
ground. It interrupted the labors of the boys, 
and Mrs. Carlton expressed loudly her pleasure at 
this, as the very day before she had been thrown 
into alarm by an accident that befell Harry. Ar- 
thur came hurrying into the house, crying out for 
somebody’s help, saying that Harry was lost in the 
swamp. Hannah was the first to hasten to the 
scene of trouble. She went out through the yard 
and the meadow, behind the house, to the skirt of 
the wood, along which a broad space of swampy 
ground stretched. It was here the boys were 
working upon their bridge. Harry had been 
amusing himself in a favorite sport of jumping 
from one little tuft of grass to another, till he had 
lost his footing, and suddenly cried out to the boys 
that he was sinking in the mud. Hannah found 
that Jack had gone to rescue him, but was in 
trouble himself. He had lost his own boot in his 
efforts, and seemed uncertain whether to devote 
himself to rescuing that or Harry. Tom was try- 


212 


STRUGGLE for life. 


ing to encourage Harry, who was screaming 
loudly. Hannah looked round to see how she 
might be of service. She brought from the wood 
a strong branch of a tree, and at length, with Tom 
and Jack’s help, she succeeded in drawing Harry 
out of his perilous position. He was wet through, 
however, and shivering with cold. By the time 
that they were turned back towards the house 
they met a party of men, whom Arthur’s entreaties 
and representations had brought down to Harry’s 
help. Mrs. Carlton was at the door to receive 
them. 

11 1 expected no more than this,” she exclaimed. 
“ I only wonder it has not happened before. Harry 
will be sick a week after it, and that suit of clothes 
is entirely ruined. Tom and Jack are not fit to 
be trusted with the care of Harry.” 

a There wasn’t anything the matter to make 
such a fuss about,” said Tom. “ We should have 
got Harry out in time, only Arthur is always 
frightened the first thing. He wants to run into 
the house if a leaf rustles.” 

“ And where’s Jack?” said Mrs. Carlton. “In 
more mischief? ” 

“ He’s fishing out his boot,” said Tom. 11 One 
of the men is helping him.” 

“ Tell him to come directly into the house,” said 
Mrs. Carlton. “ I am going to speak to Mr. Carl- 
ton to-day and tell him to put an end to all this 
working in the swamp. It ruins the carpets, all 


bertha’s room. 


21 


the mud that is brought into the house ! It might 
have been the death of Harry, and it’s impossible 
to keep his clothes decent, or any of you fit to be 
seen.” 

The snow came to assist Mrs. Carlton in her 
determination. It began to fall towards night, and 
the next morning lay thickly piled upon the 
ground. The boys were up as early as Hannah, 
full of excitement. 

u We are going to help you this morning,” they 
exclaimed. “We’ll clear your steps for you. 
Fred is going to find our snow shovels ; he knows 
where they are.” 

Harry, too, was eager to bear his part, and 
begged the kitchen shovel of Bridget. 

Agnes groaned that the snow should make the 
walking so bad, and hoped Tom Paxton would get 
up a sleigh-ride. She went into Bertha’s roonr for 
consolation. 

11 1 declare, you look cosy here,” she exclaimed. 
“ Your little crackling fire sounds comfortably. 
And how pretty the snow-wreaths round the win- 
dow are. You always manage to make the cham- 
ber bright and' cheerful.” 

u Hannah, here, does it all,” said Bertha. “ She 
knows how to give a 1 touch ’ to a room.” 

“ I wish she would give a touch to mine a little 
oftener,” said Agnes. “ And before you begin 
dusting the , shelves, Hannah, suppose you take 
those books out of the easy chair and draw it up 


214 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


to the fire. I may as well sit comfortably while I 
am here. I have not told you about the party at 
the Fays’ last night, Bertha.” 

11 Was everybody there?” asked Bertha. 

“ Almost everybody. We had. rather a slow 
time, on the whole,” said Agnes. “ I had a long 
talk with Mr. Jasper, as usual. They tried to get 
up a dance, but it did not succeed very well.” 

“ I suppose Amy went ? ” said Bertha. 

“Yes, Amy was there. She wore her new 
dress,” said Agnes. “ They say it’s quite certain 
George Arnold comes home in the spring, and I 
suppose Amy will be married then. Does she 
ever talk to you about it? ” 

“ Not much,” said Bertha. “ I think Amy feels 
very happily about it. She thinks it is best for 
George to be away.” 

“ I think it is quite useless to be so virtuous,” 
said Agnes. “ It would have been a great deal 
pleasanter to have had George Arnold here, among 
us all. He was before my time, but I remember 
those funny sketches he used to draw. I don’t 
believe there’s anybody half so entertaining now. 
Frank Rothsay has grown stiff, and studies so 
hard, one can’t get a word out of him.” 

“ 1 thought Frank seemed as full of fun as ever, 
when I saw him the other day,” said Bertha. 

11 He can be as amusing as anybody,” said Ag- 
nes. “ Now, Thanksgiving night it was a perfect 
refreshment to have him come in here. That, to 


bertha’s room. 


215 


be sure, was by way of contrast, after the stupid 
time we had been having. It is the stupidest day 
in the whole year, one grows so tired of one’s 
relations.” 

“ That’s ungrateful, when you are the favorite 
of the family,” said Bertha. 

“ Oh, well, I like them all separately, but they 
are tiresome to take them in a lump, and all day 
long too ! I’m afraid our plan of theatricals is to 
fall through ! ” 

“ You were very sanguine about it yesterday,” 
said Bertha. 

u I know it,” said Bertha, u but last night Tom 
Paxton told me he was afraid he should not bring 
his mother to consent to it. He has been talking 
to her about it.” 

“ I don’t wonder,” said Bertha, 11 that she should 
be unwilling to have them in her house, when she 
is feeling so anxiously about Mrs. Strange.” 

“ She don’t feel anxious enough to care to go 
abroad and see her,” replied Agnes. “She might at 
least consent to have a little fun going on. The 
Lees thought they might have them in their house, 
though Mrs. Lee don’t like the trouble. And Tom 
Paxton says he don’t care to have them if they are 
not at his house and if I don’t take a part.” 

“ Have you decided not to take a part?” said 
Bertha, surprised. 

“ I never meant to,” said Agnes, “ though I did 
not say much about it for fear they would give it 


216 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


up, and I like the amusement of getting them up. 
But do think what a world of trouble it would be ! 
How many pages I should have to learn ! It 
would be as bad as school-days, because I did not 
j care if I missed then ; now, it would be rather dis- 
i agreeable to forget one’s part before all Langdale.” 

“ You are consistent,” said Bertha, laughing. 
u You are not willing to put yourself out, or take 
any trouble about the theatricals, even.” 

“ I meant to put all the trouble off on the other 
girls,” said Agnes. u They were to make the cur- 
tains and the dresses and all that.” 

“ It is a habit you have,” said Bertha. “ If you 
had been willing to work in the school-days, it 
would not come hard to work now.” 

“ But where’s the use,” said Agnes, beginning to 
walk up and down the room ; 11 lately I have had a 
great many talks with Mr. Jasper. I talk to him 
just as I do to other people, whatever happens to 
come uppermost ; and I do believe he likes it. I 
think he is interested in talking to me. Yet he is 
always stumbling against some one or other of my 
faults, and showing it off to me. I wish there was 
such a thing as being liked in spite of one’s faults.” 

“ Oh, there is,” said Bertha ; u nobody is perfect, 
and so we love our friends, whatever their faults 
are ; the more deeply, the more anxious their 
faults make us.” 

u That is not what I mean,” said Agnes, im- 
patiently ; u angelic people can do all that. I sup- 


bertha’s room. 


217 


pose patience is one of their virtues. I don’t 
know anything about that. I never was patient. 
But I was thinking about Mr. Jasper. I tell you I 
think he likes me. But I do shock him very often, 
and I know my faults stand in the way of his 
liking me any better. He would like to do me 
some good ; that is his vocation, and he likes me 
out of the hope he has that I shall be better some 
day. I don’t care for that. I want to be liked all 
for myself, because I am what I am and no other. 
I want to be loved with all my faults heaped on 
me!” 

II There is only one friend loves that way ; only 
one,” said Bertha, seriously. 

Agnes turned and looked at Bertha, whose eyes 
were fixed upon the clear view that stretched 
beyond the window. 

“ You can say that,” said Agnes, “ because you 
have left all earthly feelings behind. You are 
more spiritual than I. I cannot understand what 
you mean.” 

A deep color came into Bertha’s cheeks. 11 It 
shows how little you know me,” she said, “ to say 
that of me. I needed this long quiet preparation 
for the new home that waits me ; I needed it, be- 
cause I was so cumbered with the weight of many 
things here. God gives us the discipline we need. 
He will give you the friend you ask, or be to you 
the better friend himself.” 

II I ought often to ask you to speak to me this 


218 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


way,” said Agnes. “ You look inspired just now, 
Bertha, like some pre-Raphaelite picture, as Mr. 
Jasper would say.” 

“ He never spoke so of me,” said Bertha, quickly. 

11 Oh no ; he speaks seldom of you,” said Agnes. 
1 When he does, it is with a sort of reverence. I 
have never told you that he wants to see you some 
day, — some day when you feel really well.” 

“ He would like to see me,” repeated Bertha. 
u Are you very sure that he wanted to see me. 
Perhaps he suggested it from kindness.” 

u Oh no ; I think he was quite earnest about it,” 
said Agnes. 

“ You should have told me some of those days 
that I was down stairs,” said Bertha. “ Now the 
winter is come, I may not go down again. Don’t 
give him an answer yet. I must think about it. 
If I feel strong enough I should like to see Mr. 
Jasper again.” 

“ Oh well, don’t trouble yourself about it,” said 
Agnes. il Perhaps I shan’t see him to-day. I 
have half a mind to go into town this morning. 
If I can only reach the station through the snow, I 
shall find the sidewalks cleared in town.” 

“ What would you do there?” asked Bertha. 

“ Oh, a world of things, beginning with noth- 
ing,” said Agnes. “ If we are to give up the the- 
atricals, I must put something else into my head to 
think about.” 

Bertha leaned back upon her cushions as Agnes 


bertha’s room. 


219 


went away. Hannah was still in the room. Mrs. 
Carlton had given her some sewing to occupy her 
there through the morning. Hannah thought Ber- 
tha looked tired by her talk with Agnes. She 
closed her eyes, but the lids were pained and dis- 
turbed. Later in the day Hannah was in the room 
again. 

“ I wanted to speak to you,” she said to Bertha, 
u about what Miss Agnes said this morning. You 
looked tired after she went out, and I thought I 
would not say mare then, but oh, I do wish people 
would not trouble us so with our faults.” 

“ Yery often,” said Bertha, smiling, u our friends, 
our elder friends^ may say too much about them. 
They ought to consider to whom they are speak- 
ing. Some people are already very sensitive to 
their faults. But Mr. Jasper, perhaps, thinks that 
Agnes does not think often enough of hers.” 

“ I was not thinking of Miss Agnes,” said Han- 
nah. u I was thinking of myself. I work so much 
easier when people are encouraging and tell me 
often that I am right, than when they find out all I 
have done wrong. You never talk to me about 
my faults, nor Miss Amy, and yet I know very well 
when I don’t do your work right ; but you always 
see whatever I do that is good.” 

« Poor Hannah,” said Bertha, “ I am afraid you 
hear too much fault-finding in the house ! The 
boys are very thoughtless and careless. I have 


220 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


spoken to Fred about it some times. I think you 
are very patient with them.” 

u I am beginning to be used to the boys,” said 
Hannah, “ and they are so merry always. I wish 
I could please Miss Agnes and Mrs. Carlton 
oftener.” 


CHAPTER XXY I. 

CONTEST AND PEACE. 

The winter passed on. The new year had come. 
The constant snow had made it very gay in Lang- 
dale. There had been a succession of sleighing 
parties and other entertainments. The boys were 
especially happy, particularly when Agnes and all 
her friends had patronized the skating on the 
meadow. Fred, and Tom, and Jack were devoted 
in their gallantry to Agnes, the Lees, and the 
Fays. The private theatricals had taken place, 
after all, at the Lees’. Agnes had made all the 
others work in the arrangements for them, while 
she sat by, without taking to herself any share of 
the trouble. She only offered her taste, and gave 
the rest her suggestions. She ridiculed all the 
plays they proposed acting, and finally selected 
one herself. All the parts Were given out under 
her dictation, and at the last she took one of the 
minor parts herself, where she did not have to say 
many words, but made a brilliant appearance. 

“ It was the best part of the whole play,” Tom 
Paxton declared afterward to Agnes. 


222 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ Oh, I didn’t want to take any other,” said 
Agnes ; “ I don’t care about personating one of 
your slow heroines. Indeed, I think the whole 
thing is a humbug. I had rather go into the 
Boston Theatre, any night.” 

Agnes was a favorite on these occasions, though 
she always threw all labor and responsibility away 
from herself. She was a favorite, because she was 
never out of spirits. She was very fastidious and 
selfish in taking to herself whatever she fancied, 
but the Lees and the others admired her exceed- 
ingly, and were willing to submit to all her whims. 

“ Do you observe,” said Fred to Tom, “ that at 
whatever angle Agnes tips her bonnet on the back 
of her head, the Lees have an exact measurement 
of it, and wear theirs in precisely the same slant?” 

“ Do you observe,” retorted Agnes, “ that in 
whatever slang Fred indulges himself, it is copied 
exactly by his train of Tom and J ack, to say noth- 
ing of Dick and Harry? If he would only set a 
respectable example. But his talk is enough to 
kill one ! ” 

“Why is Fred like David?” says Jack. “Give it 
up? Because one kills with his slang, and the 
other with his sling.”* 

“ Jack, you grow worse and worse every day,” 
exclaimed Agnes ; “ I wish the institution of put- 
ting boys in barrels prevailed.” 

“ Ho ! we are so useful you would have to take 
us out every day,” said Tom. 


CONTEST AND PEACE. 


223 


“ Who would you send on your errands ? ” said 
J ack. 

“Who would bring you out of town after dark?” 
said Fred. 

“ Who would carry your bundles,” said Tom. 

“ Who would you scold round generally ? ” said 
Jack. 

“ And what a fermentation there’d be in the bar- 
rels,” said Tom. 

Agnes came home from the post-office one day. 
“ Here’s a letter for Hannah,” she exclaimed, as 
she entered the house. “ Hannah has a corre- 
spondent. Where is Hannah ? Such beautiful 
writing on the letter ! Your friend, Hannah, is so 
clear about his or her spelling. 1 Care of Mrs. 
Jon Carlton.’ That’s the new phonographic style. 
I think I will take lessons, it must save trouble.” 

Hannah took her letter, wondering who could 
write to her. It was from Janet, who wrote to 
tell of her happy life in New York. Janet had 
not so much command of her pen as her tongue, 
and she was not able to fill quite one page, but 
she wanted to assure Hannah that she had not 
forgotten her. 

“ How I should like to see the inside of that 
letter,” said Agnes, waiting till Hannah should 
finish reading it ; “ if it equals its appearance out- 
side, it must be a treasure. I hope your friend 
writes often.” 

“ You never had the patience to write a whole 


224 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


letter,” said Fred, who overheard what Agnes was 
saying ; " if you did, nobody would have the pa- 
tience to read it. Why can’t you let Hannah read 
her letter in peace?” 

“ I expected some thanks for bringing it all the 
way from the post-office,” said Agnes. 

Hannah had lately thrust Janet out of her mind. 
She was beginning to grow ashamed of her inter- 
course with her, and of the influence which Janet 
had really possessed over her. She was hoping 
she should not hear from her again, and she did 
not welcome a letter that brought up the subject 
once more. Agnes’s ridicule roused in her a spirit 
of defiance. 

“Just because a poor girl has never been taught 
better, Miss Agnes,” she said, “ you think you can 
laugh at her. If my friend, as you call her, could 
have gone to school five years, as some others 
have, she might be more useful than they are.” 

Agnes was going away, but she turned back. 
“I did not mean to be insulting, Hannah,” she 
said ; “ I dare say your friend is very useful, but 
from her handwriting, I should not call her orna- 
mental.” 

When some warm, clear days came again, Ber- 
tha ventured to go down stairs once more. Her 
father stayed out of town in the morning to carry 
her down into the comfortable parlor. There she 
was very glad to lie on the cushioned sofa, by the 
glowing fire, with her flowers and books by her 


CONTEST AND PEACE. 


225 


side, and where her friends might come in to talk 
to her. 

One morning, after she had been established in 
this way, Bertha was left alone for awhile. She 
heard presently the front door opened, and then 
Mr. Jasper entered the room. 

“ Bertha, you are here,” he exclaimed ; “ I met 
Agnes, who asked me to come in to see you, but I 
did not think to find you in this room, to come in 
upon you so suddenly.” 

“ 1 thought you would come to-day,” said Ber- 
tha. “When I heard some one at the door,. I 
believed that it was you. It did not surprise me.” 

“ So like the Bertha from whom I parted,” said 
Mr. Jasper ; “ to stand in front of you, to look 
down upon you, makes all .the years that have 
passed between, dwindle away. Was it only yes- 
terday, Bertha? What has become of all that long 
time ! Only once have I felt sorrow in your pres- 
ence. It has always been to me light and joy. 
That one time was when I knew I must leave 
you.” 

The color came into Bertha’s cheeks. She half 
raised herself. “It seems, indeed, so natural to 
see you here, it could hardly give me a shock of 
surprise. I am glad to see you once more. I 
have so often thought over what I would say to 
you.” She paused a moment, and then went on. 
“ I have been thinking that I was wrong in what I 
said to you that last time I saw you. So many 
15 


226 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


times my strength of heart has failed since then. 
A great many times I have repeated to myself that 
I was wrong in shutting out so great a happiness. 
I told you that it was a great jiappiness.” 

“ 0 Bertha, how could you send me away ? ” 
interrupted Mr. Jasper. 

“ There were so many who needed you,” said 
Bertha. “You were strong, you had a great work 
before you, — you were to work for the world. 
And I, I was so weak, I should have kept you 
back. Do not turn away, nor look so doubtfully. 
If 1 did wrong, I have suffered. But I could not 
bear to tie you down to me, when I thought I 
might live on as I have done. More than five 
years I have been a care to those around me. I 
have been very dependent. Those who loved me 
most have suffered most for me.” 

“Oh, you are wrong, Bertha,” said Mr. Jasper; 
“ do you forget that we love you ? Is any care 
heavy that we take for those we love ? ” 

“ I am not excusing myself,” said Bertha, “ yet 
I would like to have you clearly know how, in 
what I did, I meant to have helped you. Oh ! wo 
are all so weak ; when we would help each other, 
the most we have is so little to offer.” 

“Forgive me, Bertha,” said Mr. Jasper; “how 
cruel I am to come to trouble you so. But you 
are so unchanged, so like the Bertha I left behind, 
I cannot think of you as ill and suffering. How 
thoughtless I am to add anything to all you have 
to bear.” 


CONTEST AND PEACE. 


227 


tl Bo not think of that,” said Bertha ; “ I have 
wished you should have a better opinion of me. 
When you left me, you thought or attempted to 
think that I was cold and without feeling. I tried 
to hope you might think so. It would make the 
parting easier for you to believe me less worthy.” 

“One hour away from you,” said Mr. Jasper, 
“ and all such idle suspicions, anything that could 
cloud my trust in you, vanished.” 

Bertha went on, — “When I was told that my 
days were numbered, — that for the life that had 
grown so precious to me, the end was already 
appointed, — I was stupefied with a deep sorrow. 
I loved everything in the world. I wanted to be 
everything for everybody. I thought that I would 
make Agnes love me dearly ; that I would watch 
over her, would check the faults in her that had* 
grown in me like rude weeds. I thought I could 
see the source of my own faults, but she was so 
much younger I would work for her, so that when 
she grew up she should not have such faults in 
herself to contend with. I thought I would be 
the dear elder sister of the boys, the softener of 
all that was rough in them.” 

“ All this you were, all this you have been,” 
interrupted Mr. Jasper, “ and why would you not 
bless me also ? ” 

“ That would have been the most glorious joy of 
all,” said Bertha ; “ to live for others, — to live for 
you, — it was a happiness, indeed, too great for 


228 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


me. Then came the sudden shock, when my 
strength was suddenly cut down. A new way was 
appointed for me. Instead of laboring for others, 
I was to suffer, and they were to labor for me. 
Oh ! every way I looked upon it, to try to bring 
my heart into a willing state. I wished I could 
have a little time, a little longer time, and stretched 
my arms back into life imploringly. And then it 
was I made the great mistake. I wanted to suffer 
alone. I wanted to put upon myself the whole 
weight of my trial. I tried to persuade myself 
that I had mistaken your feeling towards me ; that 
it was not so deep as I had fancied, — that you 
might be easily weaned from me. I taught myself 
that if I were only firm enough, I could shut my- 
self out from you ; that you would soon have 
higher aims, that would take the place of the 
lower love you felt for me. I thought that I 
alone should suffer in the separation. With you, 
it would be a momentary pang of deep sorrow, a 
sad remembrance, perhaps, while you would be 
left free. On the other hand, I shrank from bind- 
ing you down to one whose strength and life were 
failing as mine were. The longer that I should 
live here, — the longer that I should linger weak 
and suffering, — the closer I should bind you to 
my side, and keep you away from other duties. I 
wanted you to be great for the world ; not to give 
your life to one weak invalid, and I that one. I 
had a false idea of duty, that made me believe if 


CONTEST AND PEACE. 


229 


the duty were a hard one for me, it must be right. 
I thought as long as I suffered, there was no fear 
but that I was unselfish, and so I must be right.” 

“ Five years ; five long years ! ” said Mr. Jasper. 

u When they told me you had come back,” said 
Bertha ; u when Amy said you appeared to her not 
so cheerful as when you went away; when she 
told me that the little duties of the parish weighed 
upon you now,^ as they never weighed before, — 
then I began to see, perhaps it was all wrong. I 
saw that you had been living an incomplete life. 
Something had been wanting to you. Oh ! then I 
felt that there was no such thing as breaking a tie 
like that which bound us to each other. There 
was a promise that had never been spoken in 
words, yet it never could be broken. Though you 
had been far away, I, weak and suffering, had 
bound you still.” 

Mr. Jasper was sitting by Bertha, his face bur- 
ied in his hands. “ What God has joined together, 
man cannot break asunder,” he said. 

11 The suffering had not been wholly mine,” con- 
tinued Bertha ; 11 1 could not take away your 
share, and it was the heavier for both of us, 
because we were separated from each other. Will 
you forgive me that I brought upon you this great 
suffering? Will you forgive me that I sent you 
out alone when you needed human help ; forgive 
me that I shut up in myself all those warm feel- 
ings, all that love, that might have soothed and 
encouraged ycu ? 


230 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


u I have seen others die near me, whose hold on 
life seemed far surer than mine, who have passed 
out suddenly from the midst of warm love and 
healthy action. The battle is not always to the 
strong, nor the race to the swift. I have learned, 
too, that though the world needs sorely active 
workers, yet it is not for mere usefulness that one 
may be loved. A long illness has taught me that 
there may be a virtue in leaving to others the 
work we long to do ourselves ; that even in being 
dependent upon others, we may find a pleasure in 
their willing service, may give a pleasure in re- 
ceiving it with a willing heart. I could not give 
you active love, that hastens to move all obstacles 
from the path of those it loves, that wearies not in 
well-doing, but I was wrong in shutting out from 
you the sympathy that belonged to you, that was 
your due. I should have waited till God called 
me, instead of leaving behind the world in which 
he planted me, in order to go to meet him. I am 
glad to see you again, to tell you what I am in 
love to you for the rest of the life God gives me 
here ; to tell you I have blamed myself for this 
five years’ separation.” 

“ Bertha,” said Mr. Jasper , 11 there is nothing for 
me to blame in you. The blame must fall upon 
me. You only miscalculated my strength. I was 
not so brave as you. I did not take up manfully 
the duty you appointed me. We might have been 
happier if we had not parted, but there was no 


CONTEST AND PEACE. 


231 


excuse for me. Had I been stronger, I might 
have grown into greater insight; I might have 
taught myself that my place was by you. You 
took upon yourself the heavier share of the bur- 
den, only to stand and wait in the presence of 
God. You have triumphantly performed your 
work; I come home one of the vanquished.” 

“ We cannot tell about triumph or defeat,” said 
Bertha, “ not yet. Perhaps it is all right, that I 
needed this lonely time to wean me from the 
world. Yet, indeed, it is a great mistake to think 
that sickness can wean us from the world. Truly, 
the best way to prepare for another life, must be 
to live this one thoroughly and truly. And sick- 
ness is near to death only because our powers are 
deadened by which we live here, and we know not 
yet how to unfold what we shall need in another 
life. If only those who are well could realize that 
a sick-room is truly no preparation for that other 
world ! ” 

u There is a color in your cheeks, and spirit in 
your eye, and the spring is coming,” said Mr. 
Jasper, “ but, Bertha, you must rest now.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


WINTER TALKS. 

Martha left Langdale to go to the Normal School. 
Her absence left a gap in Miss Elspeth’s household. 
She was very quiet always, but always thoughtful 
for others. Even Miss Dora said, “ Martha is a 
sensible girl. She is Tvorth her weight, in common 
sense.” Miss Dora had hoped to make a first-rate 
housekeeper of Martha, because she was so docile, 
and so eager to render herself useful ; but she was 
disappointed when Martha, as she grew up, showed 
a decided taste for studying, in preference to the 
cares of the house. 

“ 1 should not have expected it,” said Miss Dora, 
11 of one of Martha’s sense. But it is all Elspeth’s 
fault. She would send her to the best schools, and 
there’s nothing so catching as book learning.” 
Miss Dora, too, was very indignant at the propo- 
sition of her going to the Normal School. She 
thought it was the height of folly; that there 
should be a school for schoolmasters. “ Pray who 
were to teach the teachers of the Normal School ! 
By and by people would get into such a whirl, they 


WINTER TALKS. 


233 


would not know whether they were teachers or 
scholars themselves.” 

“ That’s the true principle,” said Martha ; “ we 
are all learners and all teachers.” 

“ Fiddlestick ! ” said Miss Dora ; 11 1 don’t like 
this idea of girls going to school all their life long. 
I went ten months to learn how to work a piece, 
and I considered myself finished then. What’s the 
use of my learning French, when I shouldn’t want 
to say anything to a Frenchman if I saw one. I 
think it’s blasphemous, this trying to learn so many 
languages. What were people made to talk differ- 
ently for, if they were not meant to talk differently. 
One of these days, by way of warning, there’ll be 
another Babel, just as you have learnt all your 
languages ! ” 

“ Oh dear,” said Margie, laughing, “ and shall we 
have to learn a new set of languages ! ” 

“ Miss Dora will wake up and find herself talking 
German ! ” said Bessie. 

u I might as well talk German now,” said Miss 
Dora, “ for all the attention I get. There’s the 
sugar-bucket standing outside the cupboard this 
minute, that I told you, Bessie, to put away, full 
half an hour ago.” 

“ Oh, but dear Miss Dora,” said Bessie, u you 
know I only waited to see what you had to say 
about languages.” 

How pleasant the parlor looks ! ” said Hannah, 
as she came in at twilight with Margie, the day 
after Martha left. 


234 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


11 Oh, isn’t it pleasant,” said Bessie ; 11 doesn’t 
Miss Dora look like a picture, with the light falling 
on her just so ? There’s something for Margie to 
paint ! ” 

“ If we had mpre light,” said Miss Dora, “ I sup- 
pose you think I shouldn’t make so much of a 
picture ! Well, ITannah, so Martha’s gone.” 

u I bade her good-night at the cars,” said Hannah. 
u I hoped I might come round last night or this 
morning to help her, but we were too busy.” 

u All Martha thought of was packing her books,” 
said Miss Dora. “ I should think she was going to 
dress in books, instead of gowns and collars.” 

“ You must not complain of Martha,” said Miss 
Elspeth ; “ we shall miss her badly enough.” 

“ Margie and I mean to be so lively,” said Bessie, 
u that you’ll think there are four girls in the house, 
instead of two. Only, I expect to act very badly, 
because Martha always kept me in order.” 

“ Well, we shall miss Martha,” said Miss Dora, 
li in taking care of you.” 

“ Oh, she has helped me out of so many scrapes,” 
said Bessie, “ it is so much easier to confess scrapes 
when they are well over. Do you remember that 
time when I burnt all the cake that we were to 
have for tea? Mrs. Bunce was coming to tea. I 
left the cake in the oven and went out to cool my- 
self in the garden, when there came up a story that 
Mrs. Bunce’s pig had escaped. I ran to help in 
the chase, and forgot all about my cake ! ” 


WrXTER TALKS. 


235 


“I remember/’ said Miss Dora. “I didn’t know 
anything about it till it Avas all over. I scolded 
you Avell then, and you deserved it.” 

“ I knoAv it,” said Bessie. “ Martha helped mo 
out then. She Avent into the Rothsays and 
borrowed some fresh cake they had just been 
baking. You were putting on your best dress, 
and avc did not have a chance to tell you till Mrs. 
Bunce had gone.” 

“ I smelt the cake burning, though,” said Miss 
Dora. “ I supposed you had spoilt half the batch, 
if you hadn’t the Avhole. You didn’t have a chance 
to tell me ! I guess you might have made a 
chance.” 

“ Oh, Martha couldn’t have kept it secret,” said 
Bessie ; “ she Avas burning to tell you, and she did 
tell Miss Elspeth, but Mrs. Bunce talked so fast she 
couldn’t put in a word.” 

“ 1 remember Iioav Martha mended your bardge 
dress,” said Hannah. 

u Yes,” said Bessie ; “ the very day I Avas going 
to the Rothsays, I tore it slipping off the ladder, 
as I came down from the cherry tree.” 

“ A pretty place to be in the cherry tree, in your 
barege dress ! ” said Miss Dora. 

“Well, Martha mended it so beautifully,” said 
Bessie, “ that I Avas more proud of it than I ever 
Avas before.” 

“ I always used to forget to take the right 
books to school,” said Margie, “ and when I got to 


236 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


school I always found Martha had brought them 
for me.” 

“ She always reminded me to study my lessons,” 
said Hannah. 

“ What a pity Martha is not here to hear her 
praises sung ! ” said Miss Elspeth. 

“ 1 guess she wishes she were here now,” said 
Bessie. “ I wonder what she is about ; talking stiff 
to some poky people, I suppose.” 

“ Bertha Carlton said she knew the Mays, with 
whom Martha is to board,” said Margie, “ and she 
says they are very pleasant people.” 

“ How is Bertha to-day ? ” asked Miss Elspeth. 

“ 1 think her strength is failing,” said Hannah. 
“ It tires her more to talk than it used to.” 

“ Oh, but she says so much in so few words,” 
said Margie. “We were talking this afternoon 
about that book , 1 More Worlds than One.’ Annie 
Lane was there.” 

“'What does that mean?” said Miss Dora. 
“ Aren’t people contented with one world ? What 
with California and Australia, I should think there 
was room enough here ! ” 

“ Annie Lane said she liked to think of all the 
stars being inhabited,” said Margie, “ and what an 
occupation it would be to go from one to the other, 
and how grand it was to think there was so much 
to know.” 

“I think there’s enough to know here, and 
travelling enough here,” said Miss Dora. “ I want 
to 'get to a place where I can be quiet.” 


WINTER TALKS. 


237 


“That is not very different from what Bertha 
said,” said Margie. “ She said she was afraid 
sometimes of forgetting all there was to enjoy in 
this world, in thinking of all the different glory that 
might come in another. I think she spoke for my 
sake, as she often has before. She thought we 
might pass by the beauty of this world, if we were 
wondering all the time at the splendors of another. 
Then when we reached that, we should be looking 
after another, still neglecting what lay nearest to 
us, and what had a greater claim upon us.” 

“ There is so much to think of in this world,” 
said Miss Elspetli. 

u And it is so easy to be taken up with just one 
little set of thoughts and cares,” said Margie. 

“ I should not like to live as those Miss Rosses,” 
said Bessie. “ I showed them the way into the 
woods the other day, and wanted to have them see 
how pretty the wood-paths were, and what splendid 
great rocks were scattered about, and what a mag- 
nificent tree the oak was ! But they were so intent 
on picking up little straws they were going to paste 
on paper and make into houses and fences, that 
they did not once look round.” 

“ I like to have people keep their eyes open,” 
• said Miss Bora. 

1 “ I believe Bertha thinks I am always in a maze, 

and that she would like to wake me out of it,” said 
Margie. 

“ I hope she’ll succeed,” said Miss Dora. “ I 


238 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


dare say now, you forgot to buy the split peas as 
you came along.” 

“I did forget all about it,” said Margie, starting 
up. 

“ HI go for them,” said Hannah. 

“ It’s too late now,” said Miss Dora. “ I suppose 
we shall forget to have dinner now Martha has 
gone.” 

“ We shan’t need much, there are so few of us,” 
said Bessie. 

“ Martha wasn’t much of an eater,” said Miss 
Dora. “ But I dont see how you could forget the 
peas, Margie ; I told you the very last thing ! ” 

“ I could have got them,” said Bessie. “ No 
wonder Margie forgot about it.” 

“No wonder, indeed,” said Miss Dora; “talking 
about all the worlds.” 

“ Oh dear,” said Margie, “ I never shall learn to 
be good for anything. I came near crushing Miss 
Lane’s bonnet this afternoon. It was in the chair 
I usually sit in. But all the way there I was think- 
ing about Martha’s going away, and all the way 
home I was thinking of what they had been talking 
about, Bertha and Annie Lane.” 

“ You must have been a pleasant companion for 
Hannah,” said Miss Elspeth. 

“ Oh, I knew what she was thinking about,” said 
Hannah. 11 It makes everybody thoughtful to go 
in and see Miss Bertha, — and a happy sort of 
thinking, too, it gives everybody, — for Miss Bertha 


WINTER TALKS. 


239 


seems happier to me since she has seen Mr. Jasper. 
He comes every day to talk with her ; every day 
that she is well enough.” 

“ I hope you keep up your early rising,” said 
Miss Dora. “ They say the Carltons are late 
people ; but there’s no need of your being late. I 
have no doubt of your finding enough to do, if 
you get up at early hours all the winter long.” 

“There’s no danger of that,” said Hannah. 
“Mrs. Carlton gives me plenty to do ; she likes to 
have Bridget and me up, and she is up herself, too, 
sewing before breakfast.” 

Margie and Bessie went out with Hannah when 
she went away. Hannah lingered at the gate, as 
she always used to do. 

“ It seems so natural to stand here,” she said. 

It was a clear, cold, winter’s night, and the stars 
shone brightly in the deep blue sky. 

“ How many worlds there are up there ! ” ex- 
claimed Margie. 

“ I wonder if there are girls standing at the 
garden gates, in those other worlds,” said Bessie. 

“ And I wonder if we shall ever know them,” 
said Margie. 

“ I had rather know more about this world,” said 
Hannah. 

“ How much more we might know here,” said 
Margie. “ Perhaps in the very next street is 
standing somebody whom we might help, or who 
might help us, — some friend who could be very 
friendly to us.” 


240 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


11 Perhaps Steevie is waiting somewhere, wanting 
us/’ said Hannah. “ If we could only go to him, — 
if we could only know where he is.” 

“ He knows where we are,” said Bessie. u I 
think some day he will come to us.” 

“ Good night.” 


CHAPTEK XXVIIL 

• A DEPARTURE. 

And the spring came again. There were some 
warm days in early March. They bore a deceitful 
promise of spring, and even a warm summer glow. 
The sun shone fervently down upon the moistened 
earth, and in the edges of the woods the little 
vines here and there ventured to throw off their 
warm winter shelter of leaves. There was a lan- 
guid softness in the air, and late in the afternoon 
there lingered a dreamy haziness about the atmos- 
phere. Occasionally a bird was seen here and 
there, the buds were swelling on the trees, there 
was a few days’ forgetfulness that it was March, 
that the stormy March had come, and not spring 
herself. 

Some complainers bemoaned of the unseason- 
ableness of the weather; they liked better a steady 
cold. Mrs. Bunce said that as long as she had not 
put away her winter things, and was expecting to 
keep fires in the house, she did not mind its being 
cold. She had rather have it now than in the 
middle of June. And yet, Mrs. Bunce was one of 
16 


242 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


those who found something unseasonable in every 
month in the year. Her listeners always won- 
dered what was the standard of climate that she 
had laid down. Langdale certainly never came 
up to it. 

The few warm days were encouraging to the 
poor people, whose means for fuel were small or 
none, because some of the charitable societies did 
not give out fuel in March, their standard of the 
season’s warmth and cold being different from that 
of Mrs. Bunce. 

It was happy for the poor that the windows 
could be opened, and a fresh air let into the small, 
poor houses where the winter’s cold had been an 
enemy, and a few sticks or a little coal could be 
saved up for the winter days that might yet come, 
and for the occasional meal when a fire could be 
afforded. To those who were obliged to labor all 
day, there was something oppressive in the air 
that exhausted and dispirited them. They would 
have enjoyed so much a little moment of rest, 
when they could fold their hands and look out 
upon the fresh activity that was waking up in 
nature. The school-girls found their books weigh- 
ing heavily as they carried them to school, and 
panted for the air as they came out of the close 
schoolroom and walked lazily home in the warm 
noonday sun. 

Agnes returned from a visit in town, languid 
and dispirited too. She came home complaining 


A DEPARTURE. 


243 


that she was forced to come back to Langdale in 
this dreary season when the roads were so muddy 
that she could not walk nor go out of the house, 
and when it was so gay and lively in town. Her 
complaints were hushed when she entered the 
house, for she found there a subdued atmosphere. 
There was no longer any strife or bickering. Even 
Mrs. Carlton’s querulousness was for awhile sub- 
dued. The boys’ noisy gayety was calmed. They 
moved about the house quietly and gently. They 
came in, closing the doors carefully. They were 
unwilling to begin upon any amusement until they 
had knocked at Bertha’s door to know if she were 
better, or to ask if she would see them. Even 
Harry, who could scarcely know what it was that 
made them all so quiet, sat in the parlor with his 
picture books, so that his noise might not disturb 
any one, and imitated his brothers, often asking if 
he was not wanted for anything, and could not do 
something for Bertha. All the village, too, was 
quiet. The neighbors were all thoughtful in their 
attentions to Bertha. Bertha was loved by every- 
body, and so warmly, that what she suffered was 
suffered by all. 

But Bertha was not suffering. She was sinking 
away as gently to repose as sank these warm, 
summer-like days into the glowing sunset. She 
looked out through the opened window upon the 
clear outline of the hills beyond. She said once to 
Amy, “ How peaceful it looks there. It reminds 


244 


STRUGGLE FOR LTFE. 


me of that place to which we shall come from all 
doubt and sorrow; from all doubt of ourselves 
whether we are right or wrong. I think often, 
Amy, of those beautiful lines, — 

“ ‘And thou shalt walk in soft, white light, with kings and priests abroad, 
And thou shalt summer high in bliss upon the hills of God.’ 

“ I often think of them as I look upon that clear 
line against the sky. The beautiful hills ! The 
sky always seems to rest gently over them clear 
and blue, and the clouds there are always lighted 
up, or softened by some glow.” 

But Bertha’s words were growing fewer as her 
breath grew fainter, while from her room the 
friends that loved her most, carried some precious 
words that lingered with them afterwards to 
sustain and uphold them. They saw the spirit 
was passing away already, leaving a glow round 
the beautiful face that to the last moment was 
lighted up by a peaceful happiness. 

Before the cold spring winds had returned to 
chill the opening earth, Bertha had passed out 
from this world into the new life. It seemed as if 
the unwonted loveliness of those March days had 
been sent to hang as a beautiful halo round the 
moment of her departure. On the day that was 
called the day of her death here, the air was soft 
and mild, the budding willows waved gently over 
the sunny spot where was laid the beautiful form 
to which her spirit had given life. 


A DEPARTURE. 


245 


There was a heavy sorrow and silence in Lang- 
dale at Bertha’s departure. She had been loved so 
warmly by all, that her absence left a great space 
among them. The change was not hurried over 
and forgotten, as it might have been in larger 
places, where the tumult and nustle and changes 
of one day hurry out the remembrance of the day 
before. There was time enough to recall all she 
had been in life, to feel that her memory was living 
still and fresh. For some months, though she had 
not been present in the little circle, her influence 
had been warmly felt, and now it seemed as if she 
had scarcely been taken farther away from them. 

Amy wondered at the strength and cheerfulness 
with which Mr. Jasper went through his duties. 
He was more active than ever. She met him one 
day in one of the poorer houses in the outskirts of 
Langdale. 

“ Are you strong enough for all this ? ” asked 
Amy. “ Are you not working too hard ? ” 

I believe the hard work helps me,” said Mr. 
Jasper. 11 Sometimes I feel like stopping to think. 
I feel like shutting myself up with my own 
thoughts, and having my sorrow out. That might 
be better for some people, and at such times I 
think with a half envy of those who believe they 
purify themselves in leaving the world, its cares as 
well as its temptations. I feel as if I heard those 
beautiful words : ‘ Never did Nature or Art offer 
thee pleasure so great, as did that beautiful form 


246 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


in which I was enclosed, that now lies scattered in 
the earth. And if thy highest pleasure so failed 
thee at my death, what mortal thing ought to 
lure thee to its love ? Thou oughtest, at that first 
stroke, to have lifted thyself above all that is 
deceitful, directly to me, who was no longer among 
such things.’ ” 

11 Bertha did not say those words ? ” asked Amy. 

“ Beatrice reproaches Dante with them,” said Mr. 
Jasper. “ No, Bertha did not use such words. It 
is the purity and beauty of her life and thoughts 
that lift me that way to her. I think Bertha 
would have dreaded using any words that should 
have seemed to move me away from whatever 
duties there are waiting for me in the world.” 

“ Oh, I think,” said Amy, “ that she used to 
reproach herself for what she used to call her sin 
of Other-worldliness. She said that for many years 
she had thought too much of another world, and 
had tried to live too little in this.” 

“ In all her last words,” continued Mr. Jasper, 
11 she was urgent in praising all the work of this 
ljfe. I think by her death she sang a song of life.” 

“ She must have had,” said Amy, “ a constitu- 
tional shrinking from all the real struggle of life. 
It would have been hard for her to have been 
out in the battle of life, contending with many who 
were uncongenial to her. And yet how brave and 
courageous she was in all the struggles she did go 
through ; how patient in her want of sympathy, 


A DEPARTURE. 


247 


which must have been at home, a continual want 
for her.” 

“ It is strange to think,” said Mr. Jasper, “ that 
she already knows what we still doubt of, and 
question ; that her faith has passed out into cer- 
tainty, or higher questionings have risen upon the 
lower mists that trouble us here.” 

Hannah found the house very lonely and deso- 
late. The younger children were oppressed with 
a feeling of sadness, the whole weight of which 
they did not understand. Fred and Tom went 
about the house without occupation, and unwilling 
to begin upon any amusement, finding no one to 
sympathize with them. Mr. Carlton involved him- 
self more than ever in his business. Mrs. Carlton 
had no resources in the hour of great sorrow, and 
no comfort to bring to those around her, only her 
own complainings. Agnes was sullen and capri- 
cious. She, perhaps, felt deeply her loss in Bertha, 
and was disturbed by a self-reproach that she had 
not been more to her while she lived. But this 
she would not show to Bertha’s friends. She was 
unwilling to give way to any feeling before them, 
and wore an air of indifference, though no longer 
of gayety. Hannah missed the expression of sor- 
row. It was hard to go back to the old routine of 
duties, only those duties wanting that were the 
lightest to perform, that gave strength for others. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


A RETURN. 

The same spring that bore away one of Amy’s 
friends, brought back George Arnold. He returned 
in April to Langdale. 

Frank brought to Amy the telegraphic dispatch 
that announced George would arrive in Boston by 
the morning train from New York. He would 
come directly to Langdale. Amy went into the 
garden to await him. She walked up and down its 
alleys. She listened eagerly for the whistle of the 
engine that would prepare her for George’s 
approach. She looked down the path into the 
woods. A leafless branch that hung across the 
entrance, waved often deceitfully as though it 
were moved by some one passing by. She had 
heard the hurry and the bustle of the cars ; cer- 
tainly it never took any one so long to come 
through that little path. She turned away again 
from watching it. Suddenly she heard a voice 
behind her. George was standing by her side. 
She looked at him doubtfully a moment. He was 
changed indeed in so many years. He had cer- 


A RETURN. 


249 


tainly grown manly, lie was taller, his figure 
broader. Then his complexion was bronzed, and 
the dark moustache gave him a different expres- 
sion. But his voice was the same. “ You don’t 
know me, Amy,” he said, “ you do not feel quite 
sure that it is I ? But I have no doubt of you. I 
knew the sunny brown hair, I saw the well-known 
figure in the distance as I came through the woods. 
Through the branches of the low bushes it shone 
upon me like sunlight ! A little more slender, 
perhaps ! But the face is quite the same. The 
hair hangs a little lower, either side the cheeks, 
and the mouth falls into a sadder curve, though it 
smiles, and tears are in the eyes. But you are my 
Amy still ? Will you speak to me and tell me so ? 
Or shall I begin freshly to plead my cause ? ” 

“ I cannot tell if I am dreaming,” said Amy, 
u my eyes swim, I cannot see if it is you, if it is 
George.” 

u Sit down in the old seat here,” said George ; 
“ let the sun come through the lattice, the warm, 
welcoming sun. All through the woods I heard 
voices speaking to me. The oak would like to 
have talked to me, but I hurried by too fast. Am 
I the same ? Not quite the same, though these old 
voices will call me back into the past. Not the 
same, — better, I hope. You are willing I should 
change in order to be stronger, Amy, than I was?” 

11 1 have been almost afraid,” said Amy, “ 1 loved 
the old so much, till this moment I have been 


250 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


almost afraid to see you, George. I wanted no 
change.” 

“ Not even for the better, Amy ? ” asked George. 
“ Perhaps, indeed, you’ll not be disappointed ; per- 
haps I have grown no better.” 

“ You are quite the same,” said Amy. u I’m so 
very happy.” 

“ Perhaps you saw in me what was best,” said 
George, “ and I have been working to make myself 
worthy of you; to raise myself to the ideal you 
had formed of me ! After all, I have brought 
home little that I did not carry away. I was to 
come home an artist. I have brought home no 
great works for you to be proud of.” 

“ I did not want to be proud of your great 
works, but of you,” said Amy. “ George, that did 
disappoint me ! ” 

“ I saw it did,” said George. “ I knew that it 
must be your fancy had given me greater powers 
than I possessed. I was not so great as you, and 
I dreamed that I was, under the oak-tree. I woke 
out of the illusion before I had dreamed away my 
life.” 

“ I cannot yet think those were all dreams and 
illusions,” said Amy ; “ though while I hear you 
speak I find myself willing to believe all you say.” 

11 As you believed what I said then,” said 
George, “ it is well I am no longer the will-o’-the- 
wisp, the ignis fatuus I was, to lead you after me, 
over marshes and briars. Now, I am come home a 


A RETURN. 


251 


solid man. I no longer go astray in fields of art. 
I sit down and count my gains and ponder fresh 
ones.” 

“ That I will not believe,” said Amy. 

“Well, then, Amy, I will tell you I have had 
some struggles,” said George. “ At first I did 
indulge in complainings. I found myself reproach- 
ing the way I had been brought up, my early life. 
If I had only been permitted to bring out my 
early tastes ; if what talent I had, had been cher- 
ished ; if my youth had not been thrown away, — I 
amused and tortured myself with such exclama- 
tions as these. But they were idle and foolish. 
An artist needs more strength of mind, more earn- 
estness and singleness of purpose than any other 
laborer; more than I possessed. If I had been 
trained earlier to work, to work about something, 
if it had only been in a sawmill, I should have 
been better fitted for an artist, than I was when I 
began to look around me and ask myself what I 
was ready to do. It was a time of despair then ! 
As I gave up the hope of helping to make the 
world glorious in art, so I must lose all hope. I 
was not fitted even to be a shoemaker. I had not 
the power of application which would make me 
worthy the lowest profession or trade. This was 
when your letter came to me, — the one that 
decided me.” 

“ My poor letter,” said Amy. “ It was written 
with a very different purpose.” 


252 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ It was written to infuse strength into my poor 
wavering spirit, ” said George. I determined to 
make myself fit for living somehow, and I chose 
the easiest way. The clank of dollars and cents 
would drown the voice of the syrens. I might 
forget the forms of the sculpture round the tem- 
ple, at sight of the gold and silver, and in the com- 
pany of those who bought and sold.” 

11 Oh, don’t go on in that way,” said Amy. 11 If 
it were not for the tones of your voice I should 
think you were speaking in bitterness.” 

“ And you would not have me speak bitterly of 
the trade that I have chosen, of the profession that 
I am going to follow? ” said George. “ It would not 
be fair in me, I have found such friends among my 
fellow-laborers ; it would be dishonorable of me. 
Indeed, there is no need of the fingers being soiled 
by the base metal that passes through them. I 
have seen brave deeds done, Amy, with dollars and 
cents, equal in beauty to a copper statue or a vase 
of silver. I have only changed the tools of my 
trade. I am going to work on in the same cause 
for art and beauty still.” 

11 That sounds natural,” said Amy. 11 The words 
come out with the old earnestness.” 

“ 1 have only come home to carry out the old 
theories,” said George, “ and your favorite theory, 
too. Do you remember the day you taught me 
that even to sweep a room was 1 divine.’ I have a 
sketch of you I made from recollection, a white 


A RETURN. 


253 


handkerchief pointed over your head, a dark dress 
with a white apron which floated in front, a fresh 
color in your cheek, and a broom that was exceed- 
ingly picturesque in your hand. After all, the 
beautiful lies in the actual. What we admire, is 
the way the spirit expresses itself. It is the ex- 
pression that gives the charm to the form, and a 
beautiful spirit must give beauty to the form.” 

“ So you have time to theorize a little over the 
dollars and cents,” said Amy. 

“ I am another Benvenuto Cellini,” said George. 
“I work in silver and gold for merchant princes. 
My vessels bring the raw material from the mines 
in California. We put it into a crucible and it 
comes out silks and burlaps, and teas and coffees. 
My works of Art ornament and refresh the world, 
only I do not carve my name on their pedestals.” 

11 These theories, then, don’t interfere with the 
great labors,” said Amy. 

“ You will be sceptical, still,” said George. 
“ You think I can do nothing still but talk. I will 
show you solid proofs of my power, — testimonials 
of the esteem in which I am held by the magnates 
in my field of Art. No, I have not a great picture 
to bring home, a great historical work, done in 
my own school of color, an American work of 
genius ! I am not a member of the great Academy 
of Art ! But I have a whole shipload consigned 
to me, and papers and documents to show that I 
am partner in the great firm of Shelburne, Arnold, 
& Shelburne ! Are you satisfied ? ” 


254 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


11 1 must be satisfied,” said Amy, “ since you are 
here.” 

“ But I shall have greater demands to make of 
you,” said George. “ We used to have old dreams, 
of a home among the mountains, in the midst of 
grand, glorious scenery. We would only leave it 
to go to more glorious places still, to see the great 
ocean, or to cross it for Italy and Greece and 
Spain. Wherever we went, wherever we lived, 
we were to live for the sake of Art. I was to 
devote myself to its study, and you were to admire 
all that I labored upon. These were great plans, 
and it was in the archway of such a glorious life 
that you promised yourself to me. I have turned 
away from that path. Will you come into the 
home that I am going to build now, — a little 
narrow house, — a brick house, in a brick street in 
Boston ? The view of the sky will be telescopic 
only, — the outline from the windows will be the 
jagged outline of brick chimneys. The walks will 
not lead through pine tasselled woods, but over 
dusty pavements, and there will be noise and 
clatter of wheels, instead of murmurings in trees. 
The thought of Art, the study of Beauty will* be 
my rest, and not my labor. There will be around 
our house, not even such beauty as hangs round 
Langdale. Can you look upon such a home with 
the same hopefulness you had in the old days, and 
give me the same promise you gave me then ? ” 

“ While you speak to me, while you are by my 


A RETURN. 


255 


side,” said Amy, “ I hear and see nothing else. 
Even Langdale fades out of my sight. How can I 
care what air surrounds me, what walls shut me 
in, so that we have each other to live and hope 
for ! ” 

In the evening Bessie went hastily to the 
Carltons 7 . 

“ 0 # Hannah, we want you to come home to 
spend the evening. George Arnold has come 
home ! and we want to talk with you about it. 
Mr. George Arnold ! You would not know him. 
And they are all so happy! And we have so 
much to tell. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


GOING AWAY. 

Mrs. Carlton was becoming more capricious 
and rigorous in her treatment of Hannah. One 
morning, after Hannah had spent an evening at 
Miss Elspeth’s, Mrs. Carlton lectured her severely 
upon her love of going out. 

u Bridget, too, is out every night,” she went on, 
11 and I am half the time left to sit down stairs 
alone in the house. Last night I heard a noise at 
the back part of house ; I went to the door, but 
there was nobody there ! I called Mr. Carlton, 
who was asleep over the newspaper, and he looked 
round in the yard and did not see anybody. But I 
am convinced some one had been there from the 
noise. I heard. Either it was burglars trying to 
get into the house, or else it was yours or Brid- 
get’s friends.” 

u I have no friends to come and see me at that 
time,” said Hannah. 

“ I don’t wish to be contradicted,” said Mrs. 
Carlton. “ I dare say you have as many friends as 
anybody, and I have no doubt they are a poor set. 


GOING AWAY. 


257 


I don’t wish to have them lingering about the 
house. Agnes says you have a friend that writes 
to you who does not know how to spell. They 
had better keep away from here.” 

u There’s no danger that any one will come to 
see me,” said Hannah, about to leave the room. 

u All the Irish are banded together,” said Mrs. 
Carlton ; “ and they all know one another, and they 
all uphold one another, and if you trust yourself 
to one, you trust yourself to all.” 

For some time longer Mrs. Carlton kept up this 
tone of conversation with Hannah. She was 
■always making some complaint of the way in 
which she did her work. 

“ I’ve been expecting it,” said Bridget to Han- 
nah. “ Mrs. Carlton don’t ever keep her girls 
more than one winter. I supposed she’d quarrel 
us oft' before the spring came. And I’m about 
ready to go, for my part. I’d as lief live in the 
big bell of Bow, as hear the sound of Mrs. Carl- 
ton’s tongue all day.” 

But Hannah did not feel this willingness to go. 
She was attached to the memory of Bertha that 
lingered round the house. She was even fond of 
the boys now. Little Harry was more obedient to 
her than any one else. Arthur liked to# read 
stories to her when she was sewing. The other 
bo}^s, it is true, were always appealing to her for 
help, but they had learned to be grateful in their 
17 


258 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


acknowledgments, and it was pleasant to her to 
think that she was useful. 

At last there came an outburst. Mrs. Carlton 
found a favorite cream-pitcher broken. She called 
in Hannah and accused her of breaking it. Han- 
nah said that she knew nothing of it ; she did not 
know it was broken. 

“ How can you deny it, Hannah ? ” Mrs. Carlton 
said. “ You know you are mole awkward than 
any one else in the house, and that no one else 
could have broken it.” 

“ I know I am awkward, Mrs. Carlton,” Hannah 
said, “ and that it would be very likely I might 
break it, but I never would deny it if I had broken 
it.” 

“ I don’t wish to listen to your fine language,” 
said Mrs. Carlton. “If you can’t speak the truth 
you may as well not speak.” 

“ Perhaps I had better not stay in the house,” 
began Hannah, slowly. 

“ You are quite right,” interrupted Mrs. Carlton. 
“ And Mrs. Pales told me this morning of the two 
sisters of her cook who are in want of a place. 
They are American girls. I’ve been dissatisfied 
with Bridget a long time — ” She stopped with- 
out finishing her sentence. 

“ I was going on to say,” said Hannah, “ that I 
would rather stay here till I could find out who 
did break the pitcher ; that I would rather not 
go till I could show you I did speak the truth 


GOING AWAY. 


259 


this time ; but if yop have already found some one 
for my place — ” 

u What is this about breaking the pitcher ? ” said 
Agnes, sauntering into the room. u What a loud 
talk about nothing ! You need not lecture Han- 
nah, ma’am, about the pitcher. I broke it myself 
and picked up the pieces ! ” 

“ You might have told me of it,” said Mrs. Carl- 
ton ; “ but it makes no difference. Hannah and I 
were talking of her going away. Hannah herself 
seems to think she had better leave, and we have 
not got along well together for some time.” 

“ You won’t find anybody that will do so much 
work,” said Agnes. “ I would advise you not to 
let Hannah go.” 

“ I shall not try to find any one to do all your 
work, Agnes,” said Mrs. Carlton. u It is time that 
you begun to work for yourself. I am tired of 
having disputes with Hannah, and we had better 
part.” 

“ Perhaps it is better sp,” said Hannah, turning 
slowly to leave the room, but she came back 
quickly. “ Mrs. Carlton, I had rather not go,” said 
she. u I will stay and work hard for you. It is 
like working for Miss Bertha still. It will be like 
parting from her again to go away. I will do all 
you ask me. I will promise to see no friends of 
mine.” 

“ I see you are willing enough to stay,” said Mrs. 
Carlton, coldly. il I supposed it would be so. When 


260 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE, 


it comes to the point you don’t care to leave a 
good place. And it wouldn’t do for Miss Elspeth 
to know that you didn’t suit me any longer. But 
I don’t like such uneasy minds.” 

More words followed. Agnes interposed, but 
her interposition only irritated Mrs. Carlton the 
more, and the conversation ended by Mrs. Carl- 
ton’s insisting that Hannah should leave that very 
night. 

“ You had better go now and pack up your 
things,” was her final dismissal. 

Hannah met Fred at the door as she was leaving 
the room. He followed her. 

“Has mother been quarrelling you away?” he 
asked. “ It is a real shame, after you have been 
knocked about all winter ! It is all the better for 
you. There is nobody fit to live with in the 
house. I wish somebody would send me off. We 
shan’t ever have anybody we like as well as you. 
And nobody that is good for anything will stay in 
such a house. I am sure I wouldn’t ask them to.” 

Fred turned away, an3 there were tears in his 
eyes. Not for Hannah, but for the uncomfortable 
home and its succession of discords and annoy- 
ances. He would keep outside of it as much as 
possible, and take the other boys with him. If 
there was nobody to think of or care for them at 
home, they needn’t stay there. 

Hannah went to her room bewildered. She 
shrunk from the idea of going back to Miss Els- 


GOING AWAY. 


2G1 


peth. Now was the time to carry out the long- 
cherished plan of taking care of herself. Mrs. 
Carlton had promised her the back wages owing to 
her. This would be enough to carry her to New 
York. Janet’s letter had given her some direc- 
tions where to find her if she should ever go 
there. She put up her things hurriedly, deter- 
mining she would not go to see Miss Elspeth. She 
left Bessie safe there, and now she would try for 
herself. 

In the midst of her plans she was summoned to • 
the parlor, and was surprised to find Mrs. Paxton 
there, with Agnes. 

“ Mrs. Paxton wants you,” said Agnes, “ for Mrs. 
Strange, to take care of Mrs. Strange’s baby. She 
heard that mother was going to send you away, 
through Mrs. Fales.” 

u Yes,” said Mrs. Paxton. u Mrs. Fales’s cook 
told our chambermaid that her sister was coming 
here in Hannah’s place. Miss Agnes says, Han- 
nah, that her mother has no serious complaint to 
make of you. Now, Mrs. Strange is all packed up 
to go away to New York to-morrow, and her nur- 
sery-maid is taken sick, and we want somebody 
directly to take her place.” 

“ They want you, Hannah,” said Agnes, “to go 
on to New York to-morrow, and to take care of 
Mrs. Strange’s baby.” 

•• It is just the way everything happens,” said 
Mrs. Paxton ; u that Mary should be taken sick at 


262 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


this time. She has always been a very reliable 
girl, but one cannot tell what to depend upon. I 
don’t like Eleanora’s going away again so soon, but 
it seems very quiet to her here, and so sad and all j 
and she is so used to travelling, she is listless 
whenever she is still. Then Mr. Strange’s friends 
are anxious to see the children. The baby is such 
a splendid fellow, and the little girl is a little thing, 
but she has such pretty ways. I should like to 
have gone to see Miss Elspeth. I suppose she 
would give Hannah a good recommendation. Any- 
body that she has brought up ought to be faithful 
with a young child.” 

All the while Mrs. Paxton was pouring out 
this and more to Agnes, Hannah was standing in 
doubt. And yet hardly in doubt, rather in a sur- 
prised pleasure. Here was an easy way to go 
to New York. Her wish was suddenly antici- 
pated. And when Mrs. Paxton and Agnes allowed 
her time to speak, it was to give her consent. 
Indeed, Mrs. Paxton’s carriage was at the door. 
She would take Hannah away with her if Hannah 
was ready. She had left Ronald crying for his 
nurse, and it would be a comfort to take Hannah 
back directly. 

Hannah felt herself carried away in a whirl. 
She was naturally slow of thought and motion, and 
now gave herself up to Mrs. Paxton’s quick sug- 
gestions. She thought to herself bitterly that it 
was but a change of masters, but she was attracted 


GOING AWAY. 


263 


hy the novelty, and was rather pleased than other- 
wise, when Mrs. Paxton kept her so occupied 
through the rest of the day that she had no oppor- 
tunity to go to consult Miss Elspeth, or tell her of 
this change in her life. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 

The next day, Hannah set forth upon her jour- 
ney, taking the station at Langdale for New York. 
Hannah was to have the care of the youngest 
child only ; a French maid took charge of the little 
girl. As she could speak nothing but French, 
Hannah could have little intercourse with her. 
At New York they went directly to the house of 
old Mr. Strange. 

Hannah’s first view of New York, was when she. 
went to take the child out with some other nurses 
of the family and neighborhood. They were all 
dressed in their best, the nurses and the babies. 
Little Master Ronald, Hannah’s charge, met a full 
share of attention. His Paris hat and embroidered 
cloak were the study and delight, not only of the 
whole band of nurses, but of the mothers who 
were straying up and down the sidewalk. Many 
were the questions Hannah was obliged to an- 
swer with regard to him. She herself was won 
by his great blue eyes and his healthy good 
nature. Hannah repeated to Mrs. Strange the 
praises that baby had received. 


THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 


265 


“ Ronald does look well,” she said, languidly ; 
“ but Hannah, you must not let him crumple his 
ruche ; you must keep his hands still.” 

Hannah afterwards walked down Broadway with 
one of the women. She was bewildered and con- 
fused by the noises, by the crush of people. She 
saw a great many girls dressed as she fancied 
Janet would be ; she shrank when they came near 
her. She had no desire to meet Janet yet. She 
would wait a little while and see what a life in 
New York might be, and Mrs. Strange did not 
allow her much time to make inquiries. 

And indeed, her interest in the little Ronald 
held her unconsciously, as well as the newness of 
the life around her. She seldom left the upper 
part of New York. Sometimes she looked down 
the narrower streets, anxiously and inquiringly. 
She saw along the sidewalks, poor, thinly dressed 
girls, who reminded her of herself as she was 
many years ago. She had started when she first 
met some of them when she walked in Broadway. 
It had needed that she should turn round to a 
broad window at her side to recall to herself that 
she was not one of them, but that the decently 
dressed, sober-looking figure reflected there was 
herself. She found herself almost dreading that 
Janet should meet her in some of the streets, while 
she was walking with the respectable-looking ser- 
vants of Mr. Strange's establishment, and feared 
that she should be ashamed to acknowledge her if 
she did meet her. 


266 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


Mrs. Strange had been received warmly and 
kindly by her husband’s family. She was sur- 
rounded with all the luxury of woe, and all. the 
attention that her widowed state required. But 
she was as restless here as in Langdale. Her 
children gave her no occupation nor pleasure, for 
she did not allow them to give her any care. 
Ronald came to her every day before he went out, 
that she might see that his rosettes and ribbons 
were properly adjusted, and then he was displayed 
again at dinner-time. “ He looks so like his fa- 
ther,” Mrs. Strange would say to her friends, “that 
it brings up most harrowing recollections to have 
him with me.” 

Elise was an hour or two a day with her mamma. 
She could say a few words, half French and half 
Italian, that entertained her and her friends. Her 
toilet, too, was perfect, her dress always exquisite, 
and a fruitful subject for admiration and discussion. 
Elise had already learned to cast down her eyes, to 
turn aside her head when her dress or herself were 
admired, and she knew perfectly how to keep in 
order her embroidered ruffles and streamers of rib- 
bon. When the children’s dresses had all been 
displayed, and the bijouterie that she had selected 
and brought home with her had been sufficiently 
admired, Mrs. Strange grew tired of her New York 
relations, and very gladly consented to the pro- 
posal of some friends she had met in her travels, 
to join them at Niagara, and go from there to 
Montreal with them. 


THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 


267 


The French maid was charmed with the pros- 
pect of finding somebody to talk French with in 
Canada, as she wearied a little of the society of 
her mistress, and found Hannah a little impracti- 
cable. Hannah, too, was glad to be travelling 
again. It was with the hope of seeing the world 
that she had entered into Mrs. Strange’s service. 
The little Ronald, however, and herself, were firm 
friends. She went with him every day to the 
pretty squares, and was proud of all the attentions 
that were paid him. He was always good-natured 
with Hannah, and slept well and eat well. He 
refused to let any one else care for him, so Hannah 
had the almost constant charge of him. 

They arrived late at night at Niagara. Mrs. 
Strange found her friends awaiting her. All the 
evening they talked over her trials, her sad afflic- 
tion in Florence. Elise and Ronald w r ere shown 
off. 

“ What a sad responsibility ! What a terrible 
charge ! ” they all exclaimed. 

The next day, Mrs. Strange, with her friends, 
went round in a carriage to see what was to be 
seen. In the afternoon, Adele left Elise in Han- 
nah’s care. She wanted to go and see the won- 
derful falls herself, and went off with a gay party 
of the servants she had picked up. Hannah had 
no chance all day to leave the rooms that were 
allotted to them. The roar of the waters sounded 
in her ears, the doors and the windows shook in 


268 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


their fall, but the windows commanded only the 
village street, and she could see nothing but the 
different parties setting off from the door of the 
hotel. 

In the evening, Mrs. Strange had Ronald brought 
into her parlor. Elise was talkative and noisy, 
and she was afraid Ronald would not sleep in the 
same room. Hannah sat by him as he slept on a 
couch in a distant corner. He could not be dis- 
turbed by the subdued conversation that was 
going on between Mrs. Strange and her friends. 
Hannah, at first, did not pay any attention to this 
conversation. She sat with her knitting by the 
sleeping Ronald, thinking of the great roar that 
was all the time sounding in her ears. At last 
she w~as attracted by the words of one of the 
gentlemen. He was more animated than the rest, 
and had been a great traveller. He had been 
talking of San Francisco. 

“ I suppose everybody gets along in California? ” 
said one of the ladies present. “ What an excel- 
lent place it is for all the scapegraces and ne’er-do- 
wells to go to.” 

“ That’s a pleasant picture of society there,” 
said Mr. Jones, laughing. “But it is only the 
most spirited that manage to reach there, or to get 
along after they have reached there. There was a 
little Irish fellow I was interested in, went out in the 
same ship with us when I went some years ago. He 
got on board nobody knew how, and the captain 


THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 


269 


could not throw him overboard. He raised the inter- 
est of some of the passengers. My friend Smith was 
struck with the mixture of foolhardiness and cour- 
age there was in the boy, and he helped him along 
after he reached San Francisco. The captain had 
threatened to put him on shore at Aspinwall, but 
by the time we reached there, Steevie was quite a 
favorite with the passengers and they would not 
let him go.” 

Hannah had been listening attentively to Mr. 
Jones’s words, and now she came across the room. 

“ Oh, tell me what was his name ! ” she ex- 
claimed. 

“Hannah, what are you thinking of? what do 
you mean?” said Mrs. Strange. 

“I know I ought not to speak to Mr. Jones,” 
said Hannah ; “ but perhaps he is my brother. I 
mean the boy. Oh, sir, will you tell me his name, 
and how long ago it was?” 

“ Hannah, you surprise me,” said Mrs. Strange, 
“ to interrupt Mr. Jones in this way!” 

“ Never mind, Mrs. Strange,” said Mr. Jones. “ 1 
remember his name, because we used to laugh at 
John O’Connor about him, and tell him he ought to 
support his own relations, and that they probably 
came from the same place in Ireland. John O’Con- 
nor was a young Irishman that we thought every- 
thing of ; he was rich and jolly and young.” 

“Then it was Stephen O’Connor?” interrupted 
Hannah. “ Tell me about him. When did he go 
to California? Is he there now ?” 


270 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ My poor girl,” said Mr. Jones, “it was so long 
ago ! I should be very glad to give you his his- 
tory. Smith took a fancy to him and got him some 
work in California, but Stephen was forever falling 
into scrapes and tumbling out again. -Smith kept 
an eye on him. I saw him a year ago and asked 
him about it. I think he said Stephen had gone 
up to the mines, or to Australia.” 

“ Oh, how long ago ? When did he go ? ” said 
Hannah. 

“ Let me see. It was the spring of ” said 

Mr. Jones. “ I should say five or six years ago. 
I can’t remember which, but then it was a year 
ago I met Smith, and he had lost sight of Stephen 
then.” 

“ But wouldn’t he know? wouldn’t he hear from 
him?” asked Hannah. 

“ What, Smith ? ” asked Mr. J ones. u There 
would be no hope of finding Smith. He turns up 
now and then, but nobody ever knows where he 
keeps himself.” 

“ He sinks into the sea of Smiths, I suppose,” 
said one of the ladies. 

“ Then there is no hope,” said Hannah. “ Ste- 
phen is lost again.” 

One of the gentlemen tried to comfort her by 
telling her he would come home again, very likely, 
after he had made his fortune. 

“ Well, now, I think it is only your bad pennies 
that turn up again,” said another. 


THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 


271 


Hannah returned to her corner, and later in the 
evening she had permission to go out. It was late 
and dark. She wandered into the street. She fol- 
lowed where the noise of the Falls led her, though 
she was so full of other thoughts that she forgot 
entirely where she was. She hurried along a 
pathway under the trees. The sound of the roar 
was nearer and nearer ; at length, she stood on its 
very edge, just where the great ocean-like mass of 
waters plunges itself into the broad, deep basin 
below. The sky was heavily clouded, but a white 
mist rose up to show the deep precipice of waters. 
Hannah stood, confused, bewildered, before, in the 
midst of the heavy tumult. Suddenly the black 
sky was cleft, the broad, clear light of the moon 
broke through and made clear the wonderful sea 
of waters that lay below. 

Hannah had hastened on in a tumult of passion 
and excitement. Within her a perfect tempest 
was raging. The coldness, the heartlessness ? 
the thoughtlessness with which she had lately 
been treated, filled up and were exaggerated 
in her thoughts. They were sitting there all 
so comfortably ; they had been talking of their 
journeyings, and their plans were arranged to 
give themselves excitement and pleasure. They 
had bemoaned over Mrs. Strange’s great loss ; 
they had exclaimed so loudly over their own joy at 
meeting again. All the time they had never given 
one thought of sympathy for the silent girl in the 


272 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


corner of the room. Hannah had not expected 
they would. She had thought it a little hard that 
Mrs. Strange had not remembered that the nursery- 
maid might have heard of Niagara Falls and had 
never seen them. She claimed nothing more. 

But she was aroused at the cold way in which 
her excited questionings had been received. She 
had a right to a brother and to love him, even if 
she had no right to admire what was wonderful 
in nature. This Mr. Jones, if he had had any 
feeling, might have told her more of her brother, 
might have given her hope of finding him. But 
she was nothing to them. A poor straw upon the 
waters, and it was no matter where she floated. 
They had returned to gossip about the fashions, 
and her brother, her only brother was lost again. 
He was always falling into scrapes, Mr. Jones had 
said; then perhaps he was doubly lost. What 
could she do for him ? Nothing. What was there 
left for her to live for ? But the great thunder of 
the waters woke her out of her passion. Tho 
tumult and the rush, the whirl of the waves stilled 
the tempest in her breast. She stood in a pres- 
ence of great majesty. Her own self became 
small before the wonderful scene around her. It 
was greater than her eye or thought could take in, 
and so she stood confounded before it. 

A long time she stood there, motionless, fasci- 
nated by the never-ending motion before her. She 
forgot herself and her own cares in the presence 
of One great being. 


THE WHIRL OF WATERS. 


273 


“ The waters stood above the mountains. At 
his rebuke they fled ; at the voice of his thunder 
they hasted away.” 

On her way there, she had thought to herself, 
as she heard the roaring and the rushing around 
her, she had groaned to herself, “ If it could only 
bear me away too ; if it could hurry me on into its 
immense abyss. I am small, I am nothing ; what 
matters it if I am swept away ? My cry will not 
be heard in the midst of the great tumult!” But 
now she stood checked and silenced. It was the 
voice of God in the great waters that spoke to her 
and calmed her. The moon shone clearly on the 
mass of water that went to whirl itself below, and 
lighted up, too, the glistening spray that danced 
above it. Her soul stood terrified, as it were, in 
the presence of God. She shrank before the 
abyss that had opened in her own spirit, at the 
same time her heart throbbed to remember she 
was the child of God, watched over by him, as 
was the single drop of spray among the great 
waters. 

She turned homewards, and the mighty sound 
that had seemed to her despairing, revengeful, 
now rung in her ears like the organ notes of a 
grand psalm, that is claiming and praying for the 
return of a soul to God ! 

18 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE RIVER’S BANK. 

The next morning Mrs. Strange decided she 
would leave Niagara. The noise of the Falls had 
kept her awake all night, and made her nervous. 
She knew she should not be able to sleep a wink as 
long as she remained there. Her friends had been 
some days at Niagara, and were willing to leave, 
and were urgent that Mrs. Strange should come 
directly to their home just out of Montreal. It 
had been determined that when Mrs. Strange went 
there, she should send the children to her mother- 
in-law, who was by this time at her country seat on 
the Hudson. 

At noon, then, the very day after her arrival, 
• Hannah found herself leaving Niagara Falls with 
little Ronald under her charge, Elise and Adele, 
and Mrs. Strange’s trusty man-servant. She had 
been so busily employed in repacking, in all Mrs. 
Strange’s different requirements, that she had been 
allowed no opportunity to leave the hotel. Mrs. 
Strange sent away the children, expecting to meet 
them again in a few weeks. She had brought 


THE RIVERAS BANK. 


275 


them with her to show them to her friends, — that 
they might see how Elise had preserved the French 
accent in the few words she could say, during the 
few weeks she had been at home, and how Ronald’s 
hair was beginning to curl. 

Adele, for want of her mistress to converse with, 
made some efforts at talk with Hannah, and the 
journey was quickly accomplished. 

The house of old Mrs. Strange was beautifull} 7 " 
situated on the banks of the Hudson. It was a 
large house, stretching across a broad lawn. In 
the summer it was the home of any of the children 
and grandchildren that chose to come there ; so 
beneath its roof were collected several families of 
young people and children, with maids and nurses. 
These were left to take care of themselves,. — to 
do as they pleased ; the children played in the 
grounds, or in the broad hall ; the young people 
wandered in the garden, or made excursions 
through the country round. Their elders met in 
the library, or took sober drives to visit their 
neighbors. Below the house, not far from its 
balconied front, stretched the Hudson, — behind, was 
a line of hills of the Catskill range. Everything 
was comfortable and luxurious about the house. 
There were easy lounges in the airy summer rooms 
and in the cosy library, and in the stables there 
were horses and carriages for those who wished to 
ride or drive. It was a haven of rest for Hannah 
even. A rest for her body, but her thoughts were 
full of uneasiness. 


276 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


The night that she heard news of Stephen at 
Niagara, all her old passions had been roused and 
excited. She was filled with hatred and distrust 
of all the rest of the world. Even for a moment 
she had believed she would gladly leave it, since 
it was so cold, so harsh, so cruel to her. In the 
midst of this mood she had stood beside the torrent 
of Niagara, and its wild tumult had hushed for 
a little while the passion within her ; it had 
brought gentler thoughts back to her soul ; it had 
reminded her of one great Protector, because it 
had filled «her with an awe that had driven her to 
him alone for protection. That night, as she tried 
to sleep in the midst of the great roar of the 
waters, gentle sounds had mingled with her 
dreams. She fancied she heard Bertha's voice, — 
she recalled her soothing tones. She was con- 
scious of a spiritual help, such as Bertha’s faith 
had taught her of already, and that came to uphold 
her now. 

But for poor Hannah these were high and great 
visions. She could not strain herself up to rest in 
them. The little vain trifling talk that Adele kept 
up with her, brought her down from the higher 
feelings that might sustain her. What right had 
she, a poor, abused, unconsidered servant-girl, to 
nourish such thoughts as these ? She listened to 
the little squabbles and jealous quarrels that Adele 
confided to her, that she was carrying on with the 
servants, and found her own jealousies and dis- 
trusts nourished as she listened. 


THE RIVERAS BANK. 


277 


The children were received with warm pleasure 
by their grandmother and the rest of the family. 
Hannah found that her charge was taken very 
much out of her hands. His little cousins Alice 
and Lily took a fancy to Ronald. They were 
about twelve and fourteen years old, always 
together, and alike in their tastes. Whatever one 
did, the other must do also. They could not rest 
without having Ronald to play with. On the 
pleasant days, they w r ould take him out upon the 
lawn. Hannah was made to sit under the trees 
while they had a lively frolic with him. Then, 
whenever they went to drive, Hannah must take 
Ronald with them. He was such a good-natured 
little fellow, and laughed whenever they shook 
their curls at him. 

Elise was a pet of the older girls. They were 
fond of making her mimic young-lady airs and 
graces, and she was a very apt scholar, and liked 
nothing better than tp be praised and laughed at 
for her bright sayings. The French words coming 
I out from her little mouth sounded so charmingly, 
and then they had such an excellent opportunity 
to talk French with the nurse ! Ronald was 
charmed with the attention he received. On rainy 
days he would walk up and down the hall with 
Hannah, and Alice and Lily would play hide and 
seek with him behind the statuary that stood 
there. It- was a grand hall that went through the 
house, and Ronald and Hannah both admired much 


278 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


the marble figures with which it was adorned. 
They liked best the little Cupid on the Dolphin, 
and Hannah held Ronald in her arms to look at it 
again and again. Sometimes they ventured into 
the conservatory, but not often, for if the gardener 
was there he scolded them away. He did not like 
to have the children there, — they broke off the 
flowers, or perhaps even knocked down the pots. 

Everywhere else Hannah, with Ronald in her 
arms, was welcomed. Grandpapa Strange laid 
down his book if they came into the library, and 
took off his spectacles to look at Ronald, and then 
would lift him on his knee awhile, but give him 
back to Hannah with a sigh, “ He looks so like his 
father, as he was, so many years ago.” 

And in the drawing-room they compared the 
hearty, rosy Ronald with the delicate, dainty little 
Elise, and the girls were quite willing he should 
pull down their hair, he was such a handsome little 
darling. 

One day, after a noisy play with Ronald on the 
lawn, Alice came near where Hannah was sitting, 
and threw herself all out of breath on the grass by 
her side. 

“Don’t you think this is a pretty place?” she 
asked of Hannah, as soon as she could recover her- 
self ; “ isn’t this a pretty place ? I wish we had at 
home such a wide lawn. We have only a little bit 
of a garden, and the walks in it are so narrow that 
I can’t run through it, or my skirts will knock off 


THE RIVERAS BANK. 


279 


tlie heads of the tulips. But it is such a fine place 
here ! Don’t you think so, Hannah? ” 

“ Yes, Miss Alice,” said Hannah. “ I never saw 
such a beautiful place.” 

“ And don’t you like to be here ? ” asked Alice. 

“ I like to be with Master Ronald,” said Hannah. 

“ But don’t you like to be here ? ” persisted 
Alice. “ Do you want to go anywhere else ? You 
look tired always ; you look as if you wanted some- 
thing else.” 

, “ Do I look tired ? ” asked Hannah. “ Everybody 
says so ; I don’t know why they look at me.” 

“ 1 don’t suppose they do look much,” said Alice; 
“ only I was wondering if it was so very tiresome 
to take care of Ronald. Now I think I should like 
to take care of him all day.” 

“ Master Ronald isn’t any care,” said Hannah. 
u He isn’t enough care.” 

“ Why, I shouldn’t want any more,” said Alice. 
“He is such a little plaything, — just enough to 
take up all one’s time. Perhaps you don’t like to 
have us take him away from you.” 

“ Oh no, Miss Alice,” said Hannah. “ I like to 
see you playing with him, and very often it makes 
me forget all abouf myself.” 

“Oh, you have unpleasant things to think of 
then,” suggested Alice. “ I suppose people do, as 
they grow up. Sometimes when. I go to ask 
mamma something, she says, 1 Don’t worry me, I’m 
thinking.’ But I shouldn’t imagine any one could 
worry here.” 


280 


STRUGGLE FOR. LIFE. 


Hannah did not reply to this. 

11 Perhaps,” Alice went on, “ you have been un- 
happy in your former life. Oh, I wish you would 
tell me all about it. I like to read about people 
who have had a former life, who have suffered 
much through their early days, and then something 
turns up that makes it all very happy for them.” 

“I have had kind friends who have kept me 
from suffering,” said Hannah. 

11 Hid you leave an old father in Ireland ? ” said 
Alice. “ Hid he send you here to try your 
fortune?” 

u I had a brother that I loved, Miss Alice,” said 
Hannah, at last, “ and he went away to try his 
fortune, and I think I shall never see him again.” 

“ And hasn’t he written to you ? ” said Alice ; 
u and don’t you think he’ll come home sometime 
with a very magnificent fortune ? Oh, I shouldn’t 
think you would be tired, thinking and wondering 
and fancying what has become of him, and how he 
will come home.” 

“ Perhaps he never will come home,” sighed 
Hannah. 

Lily came running up with Ronald in her arms. 
There was a summons into the house. It was time 
to dress for dinner. All through the rest of 
Hannah’s stay, however, Alice pleased herself with 
talking with Hannah about what had become of 
her brother. She was pleased to know something 
that the rest of the family had never heard of, so 


THE RIVER’S BANK. 


281 


she kept Hannah’s confidence all to herself. She 
raised wild speculations, and asked of Hannah a 
great many questions. She was very sure she 
should meet with Stephen herself in some very 
romantic way, and then she would befriend him 
and speak to him of Hannah and send him home to 
her. 

“ Oh, Miss Alice,” said Hannah, once, “ I am 
tired of thinking of that. I have been over and 
over it again, a great many times, and have planned 
in my mind many ways in which I should see him ; 
and I have wondered how I should meet him, till I 
have begun to fear to see him again ! ”* 

Mrs. Strange returned from her visit to Montreal 
and took her place in the family circle. Hannah 
perceived that she did not bring much pleasure 
there. She showed no sympathy for her cousins 
and nieces, or sisters-in-law. Even old Mr. Strange 
could not interest her in anything. Everybody 
was very attentive and kind to her, but she was 
not satisfied with any attention or kindness. She 
did not care for the books they were reading, nor 
admire the collars they were embroidering. She 
was listless, and expressed no pleasure in the 
beauty of the scenery. It dazzled her eyes to see 
the sunlight on the water, and she thought the 
sight of the mountains was gloomy and dismal. 
They reminded her of that sad winter she had 
been passing. She drew down the curtains over 
the windows, and shut out the sunlight and the 


282 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


view, and then she had no power to make any sun- 
light within. 

She objected to Ronald’s playing so much with- 
Alice and Lily. She was very sure some accident 
would happen if he was left so much with those 
wild girls. It was Hannah’s business to take care 
of him. She was quiet and steady, and Mrs. 
Strange decidedly prohibited his constant frolics 
with the others. Ronald did not like being 
restrained, nor to return to Hannah’s sober society 
after he had tasted something more cheerful. 
Poor Hannah had trouble in keeping him quiet, 
while Alice ’and Lily were obliged to find amuse- 
ment somewhere else, and set off on long expedi- 
tions with their uncles into the mountains. 

But Mrs. Strange could not decide to spend the 
summer here ; she determined to go back to Lang- 
dale. Ronald had a violent fit of crying, because he 
did not wish to go away. His mother did not listen 
to him, but with her whole family went down on 
one afternoon in the boat to New York, and stayed 
there a few days before returning to Langdale. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


. THE OLD HAUNTS. 

Early in the morning they reached Langdale. 
Hannah was kept busy over the trunks and with 
Ronald till the afternoon, when she asked Mrs. 
Strange if she could spare her for a little while. 

“ You look tired,” said Mrs. Strange, for once 
observing Hannah’s appearance, “ and I suppose 
you would like to go and see Miss Elspeth. You 
shall have the afternoon to rest yourself, and Mary 
shall take care of Ronald.” 

Hannah did look worn and anxious. She 
dressed herself, took a hurried good-by of Ro- 
nald, and went into the street. Here she stopped 
and looked up and down, as she used to do in the 
early days when she first went to Langdale. As 
she looked up the street, she could see just beyond 
the row of trees that stretched along the sidewalk, 
the gate that led to Miss Elspeth’s house. As she 
looked down, she saw the curye shut in by the 
drooping branches of the elms, that always closed 
the prospect there. 

She turned her steps down the street, and 


284 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


passed the little grocery shop, and the tavern, and 
went out of the village. Farther than this she 
had never walked before. She had never been in 
Boston since the day she drove away from it with 
Miss Dora and Frank. For the first year or two 
Miss Elspeth had purposely kept her from going 
there, as she wanted to break up her associations 
with the place, and afterwards the family wants 
from there had been so small, that Miss Elspeth 
could always supply them herself. So, for the first 
time, Hannah trod the road that had seemed so 
long to her six years before. Now she hurried 
along it, and as she passed on and drew nearer 
Boston, the way grew more and more familiar. 
She recognized some of the large houses, to 
which broad avenues led, that had seemed to her 
like palaces when she passed them before. She 
remembered the different places Frank had pointed 
out to Bessie to amuse her. As she walked on she 
came to the long ropewalk that had astonished 
Bessie, and she had asked Frank what it was, and 
if a ropewalk were anything like a sidewalk. Bos- 
ton rose up before her. The brick houses shutting 
in the narrow streets, towering up and crowned 
by the dome of the State House. She saw the 
water again, and the many bridges stretching 
across it, over which she used to wander so long 
ago. She hastened along so fast that she was sur- 
prised to find it so near. “ Has it always been so 
near to me?” she exclaimed to herself. In her 


THE OLD HAUNTS. 


285 


hurry and excitement she felt no fatigue, and 
pressed on more and more ardently. Just as she 
entered upon the dusty streets, a little girl touched 
her. “ Will you give me a cent, ma’am? ” she 
asked. Hannah did not venture to look at her. 
She dared not see this image of herself as she 
once was. She pushed by and went on. She 
crossed the Common, that seemed little changed^ 
though she hardly east her eyes around. There 
were children playing there, who looked as the 
children did there six years ago. An apple- woman 
sat beneath a tree. Hannah could not help observ- 
ing her. 11 Is that old Mrs. Grundy sitting there 
still and looking just the same, sewing on the same 
work, with one eye still upon her apples ? Mrs. 
Grundy, they used to say, was rich, and had saved 
up money in the bank, or somewhere. She saved 
it so that Jem might be taught book-learning. 
Where is J em now ? He never liked anything so 
well as playing marbles in the streets. And poor 
Mrs. Grundy sits there still, sewing on the coarse, 
blue pantaloons.” But Hannah did not stop here. 
She even walked on faster. She would not have 
Mrs. Grundy see her and recognize her. So she 
hurried on till the streets grew narrower and nar- 
rower. There were new buildings here that 
almost confused her. The old landmarks were 
gone, and high rows of stores, with broad-paned 
windows, filled with brilliant silks and ribbons, 
rose up where before were old wooden houses. 


286 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


that Hannah herself used to frequent. She 
turned the corner of one of these, and came in 
sight of the entrance to Board Court. She passed 
on and reached the very corner, and looked down 
the little, narrow court. There everything was 
quite unchanged. The old gates in front of the 
doorways still hung loosely on their hinges. Old 
barrels stood along in front of the houses. Rub- 
bish, broken baskets, stoves, laid heaped up, all 
along the court. There were groups of children, 
noisy children, that were quarrelling there, as they 
used to do long ago. There were women hanging 
out clothes along the lines spread across their 
door-yards. They were talking to each other in 
loud tones, the strains of which sounded familiar 
to Hannah’s ears. Two boys were fighting over 
the broken hoop of a barrel, and a dog was joining 
in the contest, and some girls were struggling 
about a torn straw bonnet. Yes, it was all familiar 
to Hannah’s eyes ; the sight of it made her dizzy, 
the sounds stunned her. She stood a moment 
fixed. She had meant to go down there, to 
have inquired about the people that used to live 
there. She thought some of them might tell her 
news of Stephen. She had a vague idea that 
.there would be somebody there who would receive 
her warmly and cordially. She remembered that 
they used to love one another thtfre, and she came 
back to find an old home-feeling she fancied she 
could meet nowhere else. 


THE OLD HAUNTS. 


287 


But she stood still, shocked, overwhelmed. She 
had thought so much of her own people, of her 
earlier friends, that her fancy had thrown a mist 
over them that elevated them in her remembrance. 
At one moment all this went away. At one 
moment she saw what she was, in comparison with 
what she might have been. She saw, lb min g 
towards her, a girl struggling under the weight of 
a heavy basket of chips. It was just so she used 
to come home from her daily wanderings. It pic- 
tured herself. She realized it now more than she 
had done in the crowds of New York. Now she 
stood puzzled between the Hannah that was, and 
the Hannah of seventeen years of age, standing 
there, well-cared for, and in comfortable dress ; and 
within, how different ! 

The thought of this last difference made her 
shudder afresh. She suddenly began to fear she 
might be recognized, might be drawn back into 
that abyss. For she suddenly saw how she her- 
self had been made over ; how within her were 
new standards of right and wrong, such as she had 
been quite unconscious of before ; such as she 
was partly unconscious of now. She could not 
now say to herself, I believe that there is a right 
and wrong ; that it is my duty to follow in the 
path* to God ; she did not know this, but she felt 
herself shuddering before that other path. 

She turned away quickly ; she dreaded lest they 
should know her ; lest somehow she should be 


288 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


tempted back to that old life that only from tins 
moment she loathed. Faster than she had come 
there, if possible, she hastened away ; only one 
thought was in her mind. “ Miss Elspeth, Miss 
Elspeth 1 She saved me. But for her, I should 
lk be there still ; or where, indeed, should I be? ” 

She^ressed through the crowded streets. The 
high houses that looked down upon her were 
crowded too. Those just around her had once 
been grand mansions, but had been deserted for 
more fashionable quarters, and were given over to 
the lowest of the poor. They still had their 
stately entrances, and iron balconies, and stone 
facings to the large windows. Within were high- 
storied rooms, ornamented ceilings, and oak-carved 
balustrades. Now the houses swarmed with occu- 
pants. Each room held its family, perhaps more. 
Children and lounging men and women were 
crowded out upon the steps and staircase. All were 
struggling for life. It was like a wild field, where 
the native plants struggle with an overgrowth 
from alien seeds, for daily subsistence. It was *a 
struggle for mere physical life ; for the food of the 
day ; for permission to breathe, and to breathe in 
an air that seemed to choke breath. There was 
little room for a struggle for spiritual life. 

Two women leaned together from a window, 
looking equally old. They were mother and 
grandmother of the child looking up to them from 
below. Their faces were grimed with filth, and 


THE OLD HAUNTS. 


289 


worn with care, and hardened and stolid in igno- 
rance and brutality. All humanity had so faded 
from the coarse, repulsive features, that one would 
hesitate to call them women still. The little child 
beneath looked up with laughing brown eyes, shak- 
ing joyfully its curls of golden hair. Its cheeks 
were hidden in dirt, but were still ruddy and fresh. 
It was a picture of health, and heartiness and hap- 
piness. It is to struggle for life, as those two 
poor women have done before it. Must it be only 
to find food for the day, losing health of body and 
soul for the sake only of food and raiment ? It is to 
struggle with the crowding humanity around, with 
weeds and tares, while its own growth is feeble 
and unassisted. Must it be left so? Must the 
child harden into vice, stunted and maimed, when 
it has a child’s hearty claim on life, life physical 
and life spiritual, — the claim of every human 
being ? 

Some of these thoughts and questions came into 
Hannah’s mind *as she hurried along. She was 
suddenly conscious that she had been transplanted 
from a close, weedy, unhealthy soil, into food, 
and air, and light. Not only herself had been 
saved, but Bessie, Martha, and Margie had been 
rescued. For suddenly she realized what a down- 
ward path there lay from such a home as she left 
behind. There was love and kindness there, such 
as she fancied she had been longing for these 
many years ; but there came before her the mem- 
19 


290 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


ory of evil, she shuddered to think how alluring ; 
and the destitution that shuts out the sight of all 
else but the thought of supplying daily wants ; 
and the recklessness that cares only for the mo- 
ment’s pleasure ; and loathsome sights, and misery 
in all its forms, to harden the feelings or drive the 
heart to despair. From all this she had been 
saved, snatched away, brought into a higher and 
lighter atmosphere, to another world. 

To Hannah, it seemed as if this were the moment 
of her own salvation, because for the first time, she 
felt utterly grateful to Miss Elspeth for all she had 
done. Before, she had wild, ambitious, vain imag- 
inings ; she had believed that if only Miss Elspeth 
had left her to herself, she would have worked out 
for herself some greater position in the world. 
She had cherished a sullen feeling towards Miss 
Elspeth and Amy. She thought they had taken 
her away merely to make her work, to live a life 
of labor. While she had been with Bertha, her 
sullenness had been cleared away, the darkness 
of her atmosphere purified ; a little while she had 
been raised above her natural range of thought. 
But like a vision, these better modes of mind had 
lately passed away. 

The last few weeks, her old passions, her gloom- 
iness of disposition, had returned with new force. 
She had become suspicious of her old friends, dis- 
trusting those who were near her. Travelling 
back to Langdale, there had rushed upon her a 


THE OLD HAUNTS. 


291 


desire to return to her old home, to her old haunts, 
and her old ways of life. And she had come to 
Boston with the firm resolution of returning to live 
in Board Court. If she found there one of her old 
friends, a single person who could welcome her, 
she meant to stay there. She would live as they 
did, and make her home with them. Miss Elspeth, 
Amy, Bessie, Bonald, she could leave them all 
behind, as once she had left Board Court. She 
was older now, and could take care of herself. 
She would live independently, free of others, and 
not subject to their exactions. 

It was not till she saw the old place, with its 
desolation hanging round it, that she knew just 
what a home she had left there. It was not till 
this moment she realized the strength of the new 
ties that bound her. She hurried back, dizzy, her 
head confused with thought. In the crowded 
streets she seemed to see only the poor, thinly 
dressed girls. At all the street corners they 
seemed to appeal to her. She saw them clinging 
to the omnibus steps, seated under the church 
porches, coming out from the alley-ways. Again, 
upon the bridge she was asked for a cent, and 
emptied the contents of her pocket into a poor 
girl's hand. On she walked until she was quite 
out of town, till she drew near Langdale. Here 
she left the road, and turning into a little wood by 
the wayside, sat down in a sheltered spot. She 
hid her face in her hands and wept bitterly. They 


292 


STRUGGLE FOR LTFE. 


were softening tears, they broke up the stoniness 
in her heart, melted the ice there. For once, she 
thanked God heartily, earnestly. He had turned 
the heart of Miss Elspeth towards her, and that 
had saved her. « 

It is so hard to melt away the influences of an 
early life, to counteract all the lessons of the first 
ten years, to tear up the weeds that are early 
planted. There are evil inheritances to be strug- 
gled with, childish prejudices and fancies ban- 
ished. It requires the constant care of a warm 
love, and the patience that comes with love, and 
even at the last there is often disappointment. 
For there comes often a moment of reaction, such 
a time as came to Hannah, when she found herself 
independent, or fancied herself so, when the old 
life came upon her, almost irresistible with its 
charm, of which its distance formed a part. At 
this age and point of their lives, such girls as 
Hannah, who have been saved so far, suddenly 
feel a right to choose for themselves their future 
life. They have no special home of their own, like 
those of their own age who are fortunate enough 
to have mother, father, sister, and brothers to hold 
and claim them ; and in contrast, a life of indepen- 
dence looks attractive and tempting to them. 
They are restless under restraint, they are unwill- 
ing to feel grateful, — are unconscious that they 
have anything to be grateful for. It is a time of 
contest. The struggle comes for a spiritual life, 


THE OLD HAUNTS. 


293 


and upon the nature of the influences of the last 
few years will depend the result. It is not enough 
to have kept these poor ones from the evil, to have 
sheltered them from harm, they must have been 
brought into a positive love of the good, and must 
be held still and restrained by the powerful arms 
of love. 

It would be hard to say what influences were 
now most powerfully working upon Hannah ; what 
it was that had ^remade and regenerated her. 
There was Miss Elspeth’s untiring kindness that 
had never looked for an answering glance ; there 
was Amy’s warm, tender, unvarying interest ; and 
there were the pure strong words of Bertha ; — all 
these had made an atmosphere around her that 
had elevated her above early clinging habits, that 
had given her a higher tone of character, which 
she did not know of, till a sudden glimpse showed 
her the contrast between the old and the new. 
And to help the sharpness of this contrast came 
Miss Dora’s obstinate love of order that had, one 
by one, weeded out the unneat habits of the first 
years of Hannah’s life, which nothing but Miss 
Dora’s preciseness and attention to petty detail 
could have destroyed. 

In looking down Board Court, besides the hor- 
ror of the degrading atmosphere with which she 
suddenly felt it was surrounded, Hannah shrank 
from its filth and its unthriftiness. If nothing else 
had kept her from- the place, the sense of order 


294 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


and of neatness acquired in these last few years 
would have kept her from it. Any life, a life of 
hardship and of labor, were better than a home in 
such squalor and discomfort. 

The long summer afternoon had passed away, 
and the sun was setting, as Hannah lifted her face 
from her hands, and rose to go back. A new 
sense had come in upon her ; her first thought of 
gratitude. With it, a new hope, new resolutions, 
even plans for the future. It was no vague idea 
of something great to come upon her that ani- 
mated her, but something that she was herself to 
do, an object in life. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


A MEETING. 

As Hannah turned into Langdale, at a meeting 
of two streets, she was asked a question about the 
way, by some one who was passing by. Her face 
was bent down, so she had not observed who it 
was that spoke to her, but the voice roused her. 
She looked up to see a tall, well-built man, with 
sunburnt face, not different from many she met in 
the street ; but something about him attracted her, 
especially when he repeated his question, “ if Miss 
Elspeth Elton lived anywhere near.” 

Hannah had hardly wakened out of the dream 
into which her walk had thrown her, with all its 
remembrances of all the years of her life. Instead 
of answering, she stared at the stranger, and. said 
to herself , 11 If it should be Stephen ! ” 

“ But it is Stephen,” was the answer. “ Stephen 
O^Connor. But Pm sure I can’t say who you are, 
if it is not Hannah.” 

He was interrupted by Hannah’s exclamations. 
Poor Hannah was never demonstrative. She had 
never shown in her face any feeling that warmed 


296 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


below. And now in the street, with an unknown 
Stephen before her, she scarcely knew how to 
bring out her expressions of delight and joy, her 
questionings and wonderings. She forgot all the 
weariness of her walk, of her long life, in the 
crowning pleasure she had dreamed of and 
pictured to herself through these many years. 
She was passing from one dream of life into 
another, into a happiness she neither knew how 
to realize or to express. And now no action or 
color or words came to Hannah after that first 
utterance of surprise in the reality of her happi- 
ness. There was no doubt in it either, for though 
the Stephen that stood before her had outgrown 
the Steevie of six years ago ; though the reckless, 
ragged boy had become what Hannah’s fastidious 
eyes had directly perceived to be “ respectable ” 
looking, there was enough of the old manner and 
voice and face to assure her that her brother was 
not lost, — that he had indeed comeback again. 
Stephen’s words did not falter. 

u I do believe it is Hannah,” he said. 11 But you 
look so white and pale ; you can hardly stand up. 
Just sit down here a minute ; let us look at each 
other. It is better than I expected, to find you in 
the same place all the time. It would have served 
me right if I had lost you entirely. It is Hannah, 
and Hannah grown well-looking, though you are so 
pale, and happier than ever you looked before. I 
was afraid to go to Board Court ; I was afraid lest 


A MEETING. 


297 


I should find you in the old place. And Bessie, 
I'm afraid to ask about Bessie. Don’t tell me yet 
about her if it’s bad. I can’t hear it.” 

Hannah had seated herself on a stone by the 
wayside, under the barberry bushes, the blackberry 
vines clambering in and about her feet, almost 
opposite the Lees’ house, but she started up when 
Stephen spoke of Bessie. 

“ I must take you to her,” she exclaimed. 11 1 
must not keep you here. I believe I thought I 
was dreaming, and that it would all act itself out 
without any moving.” 

Hannah hastened away with Stephen, and met at 
Miss Elspeth’s door Bessie and Margie. 

11 Oh, Hannah,” Bessie exclaimed, u we were 
coming to see if it were true that you had got 
home. And how could you go away without 
bidding us good-by? But what is the matter? 
You look pale and sick, and happy, and crying 
too ! Oh, Miss Elspeth, come hero ; it is Hannah, 
and I cannot tell what is the matter with her.” 

Bessie was so taken up with Hannah that she 
could scarcely notice her companion. But Hannah 
succeeded at last in making her understand who it 
was. After she understood, it was some minutes 
before Bessie could welcome in the grown-up man 
before her, the old playfellow she could never quite 
forget ; but at last she threw herself into his arms 
with sobbings and delight. 

Bessie and Margie had an idea that Hannah must 


298 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


have brought Stephen from Niagara or New York ; 
it was a long time before they could understand 
that he was as new a treasure to Hannah as he 
was to Bessie, or how or where it was that Hannah 
had found him. 

Through the summer evening, Bessie sat upon 
the door-steps listening to Stephen’s talk as he 
told of all his adventures, how he had come home 
a “carpenter,” not a “nabob” with California 
gold, of his narrow escapes, and wonderful stories 
about the sea. Margie sat by with eyes wide 
open in wonder and delight. Hannah listened, too, 
for a while, but presently went in to talk with Miss 
Elspeth, while Miss Dora had fallen asleep over herr 
knitting. 

“ I want to ask you about yourself, Hannah,” 
said Miss Elspeth. “ You went away so hurriedly, 
and Mrs. Carlton has already regretted that she let 
you go, and would gladly have you back again. 
But I can’t regret the journey, if it has made you 
look so fresh and well ; or is it Stephen’s return 
that has refreshed you so ? ” 

“ It is neither, it is neither,” said Hannah, “ and 
it is that I want to tell you. It all comes from my 
walk to Boston this very afternoon.” 

“ You walked to Boston ! ” exclaimed Miss Els- 
peth. “ It is not possible you walked all that 
way.” 

“ Ah, I did more than that,” said Hannah. And 
she went back to tell all the distrust and ingrati- 


A MEETING. 


299 


tude of her last years, all the hardness of her heart, 
and evil suspicions. She told as well as she could 
of the sudden glimpse into her old life, and how it 
had wakened her into a feeling of what she had 
been, — of what she owed to Miss Elspeth. 

‘* I came back,” she said, “ thinking Bessie and I 
could never do enough if we gave our whole lives 
to you, and eager to work all my life long, if I can 
only do some of the good you have done.” 

Miss Elspeth listened, wondering, in silence. 
She had never looked for reward. When she 
began her work she had never looked towards its 
end. She was one of those workers who would 
never have asked to see the end. She liked best 
that work whose object was so grand that its end- 
ing fell into the hands of God, though its beginning 
was small enough for her weak energies. Not that 
she ever reasoned so, nor knew that she was work- 
ing in so grand a way. She took up what lay near 
her to do, because it was her work and she would 
never give it to another. That night she could 
scarcely close her eyes for this wondrous gratitude 
at her own work. She loved Hannah with a love 
different from that she felt for the other children. 
They were attractive to everybody, and won their 
own way ; but for Hannah she had longed and 
waited. She had found it hard to understand her, 
and for this reason had yearned the more to move 
her. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

HOME AT LAST. 

Miss Dora was a little suspicious of Stephen at 
first. When he left, she herself locked all the 
doors. She did not like the idea of introducing a 
new man into the house. It might be Stephen, but 
then, again, it might not be ; and if it were Ste- 
phen, what ought they to expect of him? Her 
prejudices were gradually removed by Stephen’s 
constantly respectful air and deference, and by the 
handiness that he displayed in sundry little pieces 
of work about the house. It was settled that 
Hannah was to live with Stephen in Boston. 
Hannah and Bessie easily persuaded him that it 
was not right to take Bessie from Miss Dora and 
Miss Elspeth. Hannah talked with Miss Elspeth 
of it. 

11 Stephen will not listen to any other plan. He 
is willing that I should sew to help him earn 
his living. There is another plan, and Stephen 
is willing to help it. I thought of it that 
day in the wood, after I came from Boston. I 
thought all my life long I would work for those 


HOME AT LAST. 


301 


poor girls wandering in the streets. If I could 
find the one that was so like me, that I saw that 
day, how I would like to help her. I shall not 
have such a home as yours to bring her to. I am 
not like you. I cannot show her what goodness is. 
But I can take her or some child out of a sadder 
home. You will help me, Miss Amy will help me. 
Perhaps, because I have been so near those poor 
ones once, I may know how to help them, though I 
am so little in myself.” 

On an appointed day, Stephen met Bessie and 
Hannah at the station and led them to his house, — 
some rooms in a little, quiet street, one of a block 
newly built.. Everything was neat about it, the 
steps and the stairway. Hannah opened the door 
of the front room and started to find it all fur- 
nished. She had partly expected this, but not to 
find such a finished, comfortable air over every- 
thing. She was still more surprised when Agnes 
and Fred Carlton came to greet her. 

u Have not we done wonders?” said Agnes. u I 
can’t say I have done much. But one day, when I 
was coming into town, I found Amy was concoct- 
ing this plan, and I could not help having a hand 
in it. She was busy enough about her own house, 
I told her, and I asked her to let me come and 
arrange it with her. I suppose we ought to be out 
of the way now, while you look round on your 
new possessions ; but I never did anything before 
that I enjoyed so much!” 


302 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


u Why, how beautiful it is here ! ” exclaimed 
Hannah. “ And Miss Agnes, you helped about 
this ? ” 

u You know I never do much/’ said Agnes. u I 
tried this time, but it was hard work. 1 thought I 
might accomplish some sweeping, and took up the 
broom one day, but it made my side ache so that I 
had to sit down again.” 

Hannah was looking round, admiring all there 
was in the room. 

11 Pray, admire the carpet,” said Agnes. 11 That 
was Mr. Rothsay’s present. Amy was coming into 
town to select it the day I met her, and that she 
told me of her plans. So I went with her, and I 
do believe I prevented her from getting one of 
those horrid red and green ones. Amy has a good 
taste, but she had an idea they would be more use- 
ful. Now, look at Fred’s labors in putting up 
those bookshelves.” 

“ Mr. Fred has been very handy,” said Stephen. 

“ Oh, we have had a famous time,” said Agnes, 
seizing Hannah and spinning her round the room 
and seating her at last in a little sewing-chair. 
“ That is Fred’s present,” she continued ; “ and 
the workbox on the table Tom and Jack sent you. 
Do you know they were full three days in the 
woodhouse, hammering up a workbox for you 
with shingles and nails, which they thought quite 
splendid? But when papa came to see it, he 
thought it would not do for you, so h@ brought 


HOME AT LAST. 


303 


them into town and took them to a shop, to pick 
out the prettiest they could find. And this was 
the result. A little gaudy, perhaps, but valuable 
as expressing their taste ! ” 

“ But this picture by the table here ! ” exclaimed 
Hannah. " Why, this is Miss Amy herself! ” 

“ Ah, yes, you can see George Arnold’s hand in 
that,” said Agnes. 

“ She looks as I have seen her so many times,” 
said Hannah, “ standing on the doorstep.” 

11 Yes; the broom in her hand and all,” said Ag- 
nes. “ Nobody would have thought of that but 
George Arnold. She is brushing away the leaves 
from the piazza, and the vines across the pillars 
make such a pretty archway for the picture !” 

There was a sofa Mr. Carlton had sent to Han- 
nah, to be admired and praised. The pretty round 
table Agnes had contributed, with its vase of 
flowers. 

u Now look into your cupboards,” said Agnes. 
“ See how nicely Miss Elspeth has filled them ! ” 
u What beautiful china ! ” exclaimed Hannah. 
“ Stephen, what shall we do with such handsome 
things ? ” 

“ And this famous chest of tea, George Arnold 
brought home,” said Agnes. 

“ And my store-closet furnished too ! ” said Han- 
nah. “ What kind friends I have ! ” 

In her own bedroom were traces of Amy’s hands, 
in the white window curtains and the pretty work- 
table she had left for Hannah. 


304 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


Agnes followed Hannah into the room just as 
she was looking up at an engraving that hung 
opposite her bed. 

“ That beautiful picture too ! ” she said. “ Oh, 
Miss Agnes, the one Miss Bertha loved so well ! ” 

11 Yes, Hannah,” said Agnes, “ it is the very one 
that used to hang in Bertha’s room. I thought you 
would like to have it. It will seem to you like a 
present from Bertha.” 

“ Miss Agnes, it is so kind of you. You are so 
very thoughtful,” said Hannah. 

“ You had not expected it of me,” said Agnes. 
i c I would not have expected it of myself. Yet I 
am not quite ungrateful. You were more to Ber- 
tha than ever I was, and you have taught me a 
great deal. I would give much if I could be like 
you.” 

“ Like me ! ” exclaimed Hannah. “ You could 
not wish that ! ” 

u Oh yes ; you know how to work, and I think 
there must be pleasure in that,” said Agnes. “ I 
believe Bertha used to think it would be a very 
hard lesson for me to learn how to work. And it 
is so. My thoughts fly about in so many different 
ways. I am unsettled. I have no aim. I have 
had greater pleasure here than I ever had before. 
I tried to think what Bertha would have done had 
she been here. But as soon as I compare it all 
with her, I can think of nothing but a failure ! ” 

“ Oh, dear, Miss Agnes, not so,” said Hannah. 


HOME AT LAST. 


305 


u It was such a very great pleasure merely to see 
you and Mr. Fred here ! And that you should 
have thought of this beautiful picture ! I could 
love nothing more than this. We seem to see the 
angels that bore away our dear Miss Bertha.” 

Agnes hurried away. She would not stay any 
longer, but she ran back to tell Hannah she should 
stop there often to give her some valuable hints 
upon housekeeping, and to help her if she were in 
any strait about her sewing. # 

Hannah was left with Bessie and Stephen, to 
look again at all her own possessions, and exclaim 
again with gratitude. There were the books that 
Frank Rothsay had selected, and the silver spoons 
that Mrs. Strange had sent. The pretty water 
pitcher and some plaster statuettes were the gift 
of Bessie, Martha, and Margie. They, too, had per- 
suaded Miss Elspeth and Miss Dora to have their 
daguerreotypes taken for Hannah, and Ralph, the 
cat, was also introduced into the picture. It had 
proved as difficult to get Miss Dora to the daguer- 
reotype rooms in Langdale, as the cat. She did 
not like daguerreotypes; and her sourest expres- 
sion was transferred to the plate. Miss Dora’s 
gifts were found in the store-closet. 

Miss Elspeth, Bessie, Martha, and Margie assem- 
bled at Hannah’s house-warming, which was cele- 
brated by a splendid tea in her new home. 


20 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


AMY’S LANDSCAPE. 

Mrs. Bunce was very much shocked that Amy 
Rothsay should leave’Langdale to live in a narrow 
street in Boston. Mrs. Bunce had been to see the 
house Amy was to live in, for George Arnold had 
asked her one day when she went into town with 
him in the cars, to go and look at it. It was a 
small house, and there was a row of brick buildings 
in front, and a dead brick wall behind it. To be 
sure, there was a horse-chestnut in front of the 
doorway, but it was only a mockery of a tree, 
growing out of the bricks, and Amy all her life had 
lived in the garden and in the woods, as it were, 
and George pretended to be so fond of sketching 
from nature. To be sure, she should think it would 
be easier to draw houses and windows, where he 
could rule the lines, and she always wondered 
anybody would try to draw trees when there was 
not one tree like another, if the woods were ever 
so large, and she never could see how anybody 
could think of putting them down just the same on 
paper. But then George and some other painters 


AMY’S LANDSCAPE. 


307 


she had seen, always had a fancy for trying to 
draw trees and vines, and George had always 
insisted she should keep the creeper over her own 
porch, though it had grown so thick now that it 
quite darkened her front room. But she was sure 
she didn’t care if there was not any light in the 
front room, now Amy and everybody else that she 
wanted to see, were going away from Langdale. 

Amy herself was not at all so melancholy about 
her new home. There was sunlight in the house, 
even if the brick walls shut it out so closely. The 
outside of the house was like all the rest in the 
block, and it needed George Arnold’s name on the 
door to guide the most intimate friend to the right 
entrance ; but once inside, there was no doubt to 
whom it was to belong. Already it wore an indi- 
vidual air, in spite of the plan that ruled the whole 
row of houses, and its rooms expressed both com- 
fort and elegance. 

It was one day when almost the last finishing 
touch had been given to the pretty rooms that 
Hannah drew Amy to the front window. 

“ I have never yet told you,” she said to Amy ? 
“ why I like these windows of yours. If you look 
up the street to the corner opposite, you will see 
the place where I first met Miss Elspeth. I 
remember perfectly how I stood shivering there, 
lingering in the cold, before I should go to my 
cheerless home. In front of Miss Elspeth, came 
along a lady very handsomely dressed. She at- 


308 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


traded me, and at first I meant to speak to her. 
She wore so many satins and furs, I thought she 
must have a great deal of money. I was going 
forward to speak to her when I saw Miss Elspeth 
just behind. There was something about her face 
that looked gentle and kind. Oh ! you cannot 
think in those days how we learned to study faces. 
I did not think of Miss Elspeth’s dress. I only 
saw she looked as though she could not answer me 
harshly, and so I spoke to her. That first lady, 
dressed in the satins and furs, Miss Amy, was Mrs. 
Paxton, so I knew afterwards, for I had never 
forgotten her face. And if I had asked her for 
help, oh, think of it ! she would have turned me 
away, — I should have lost my chance of speaking 
to Miss Elspeth. I know Mrs. Paxton would not 
have listened to me, and she might have given me 
hard words. Those hard words would have sent 
me back into my old life, — into that life that I 
loved in those days, but out of which I never 
could have lifted myself. I know how stern, how 
severe she is, and she would have made me harder 
and colder than I was before.” 

11 Stop a moment,” said Amy, smiling ; u you 
are talking in the way you used to go on. Think 
of the kind words that have been spoken to you.” 

u It is those words- 1 am thinking of, indeed,” 
said Hannah ; u but how can I help shuddering 
when I think what a difference just those few 
words might have made in me. Even a kind word 


AMY’S LANDSCAPE. 


300 


might have helped me then. Miss Elspeth gave 
me much more, but in those days gentle words did 
soften me. It was the hard treatment I received 
that helped to make me hard. I remember when 
I was quite young, I was more like Bessie when 
she was a child. I did not care what came the 
next day or the next hour. I laughed at the gay 
sights I saw in the street, and was full of joy on 
those days that I had more food to eat than others. 
One day I remember I stood in the street by a 
carriage door to watch a lady who was getting 
out from the carriage with her two children. I 

■ watched them as one does a pretty sight. I liked 
to see their gay clothing. I did not think at all 
that I was a child like them, nor regret that I had 
not their fine clothes. But suddenly I was roused 
by the lady’s voice. 1 Child, what are you standing 
there idling for?’ Suddenly I grew angry; I 
turned away, but wondered why it was these 
children should be dressed so gayly, and fed so 
carefully, while I was left to wander in the streets, 
and might not even stand to look upon their 
finery.” 

a But you were not left to wander quite alone,” 
said Amy. 

j 11 1 might not have been a better child, Miss 
Amy,” continued Hannah, “if I had lived such a 
life as those children whom I envied. I could 
never have been better taught than by good Miss 
Elspeth.” 


310 


STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


“ There was One who cared for you, and who 
led so good a friend to you,” said Amy. “ Y» r hat 
a moment, indeed, it was that changed your life. 
How glad I am that my windows look upon so 
pleasant a spot. Mrs. Bunce need not be anxious 
about my landscape. I have found one charm in 
it already.” 

“ You will make many such sunny places,” said 
Hannah, laughing, “ all through Boston, while you 
live here, Miss Amy.” 

u You and I together, Hannah,” said Amy ; 11 we 
will do our best.” 

It was an encouragement of this resolution that 
Mr. Jasper spoke, when he came to Amy’s new 
home. “ I have seen some households,” he said, 
“ that stand like a centre for many planets. All 
the members of it revolve around in their little 
duties, noiselessly and easily, and presently their 
quiet, even motion is felt beyond their small circle, 
and it harmonizes many wandering bodies that 
would seem beyond its reach, and many erratic 
planets, comets that have a wide orbit, come 
within its influence. All this time the little sys- 
tem is keeping on its course round the great 
central sun, performing its part of the grand law 
that ages must complete. All these words mean 
that the little households whose members truly 
perform their part have a wide influence, farther 
than they know or are aware of. If they only 
keep to their own centre, going on with an even, 


AMY’S LANDSCAPE. 


311 


equal motion, they become themselves the centre 
and support of others. I say I know many such 
homes that give out warmth and light beyond 
their firesides, and work more good than many 
great conventions and large assemblies. And this 
I believe will be one, for it begins with the spirit 
of love.” 

This was Mr. Jasper’s benediction upon Amy’s 
home, and Hannah felt that he meant it for her, too, 
for he looked kindly to her, and spoke encouraging 
words to her. So when she went back into her 
own home, she felt that however humble it might 
be, it could still have some of that power of which 
Mr. Jasper spoke. Miss Elspeth had saved her, 
not with money, or by great influence, but by the 
power of her own good-will, and Hannah prayed 
for that kindly heart that might lead her to help 
others. She felt that into her room came the spirit 
of Bertha to help her, with the memory of Bertha’s 
loving and beautiful life. And she counted up the 
many living friends who stood near her to counsel 
and support her. For she needed support when 
she looked out into the streets and saw so many 
wanderers needing more than a home, and she felt 
herself so small for so great a work. Her only 
thought was, “Ah, if there were more Miss 
Elspeths ! ” 


Jan 24 186.' 













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